Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“There’s a body in the garden.”

The words were spoken calmly, while Bucky kept his eyes locked onto the gangly form prostrate in the dirt outside. When he’d spotted it in a casual pass of the window, he’d experienced shock for all of half a second before he’d quickly transitioned into acceptance and wariness.

He stepped back from the window as Steve rushed up, a damp blue dish towel in his hands. Steve’s eyes immediately narrowed in on the form that was face down by the tomato plants. It was a good sign that Bucky wasn’t hallucinating, and a bad sign in that it meant the corpse in the garden was real.

Steve gave Bucky a look, the corners of his mouth sternly downturned.

“I didn’t put it there,” Bucky said, just in case that was in question.

And yeah, maybe there were about forty other more pressing issues with the situation than the idea that someone would try to pin this on him. Like who the person was, or why exactly they died. Or the fact that whatever had done it knew where he lived. From what he was seeing what had been left was in so rough a shape that he doubted any unenhanced human had caused the damage.

Which meant they could still be around, and Bucky just wasn’t seeing them.

“I didn’t think you did,” Steve said, back to staring out the window.

The words shouldn’t have been a surprise, but Bucky still felt something that had been tense inside of him loosen. He knew that even if Steve had thought Bucky had actually killed the guy, he would have given Bucky a chance to make his case, or else try to deal with the entire thing himself.

Bucky grabbed a gun while Steve picked up his Wakandan arm shields, and they went outside to see their new visitor.

If it was an ambush, it wasn’t immediately apparent. The sun was beaming down full force on the cobblestone path leading to the raised beds Bucky had set up earlier that spring. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary in any lines of sight besides of course the body which, annoyingly, was still insisting on being a completely real situation.

Steve went right up to it. Bucky kept his gun readily raised, and his eyes constantly scanning, his ears peeled for anything signaling an attack.

Nothing. Bucky turned most of his focus forward with a roiling unease as Steve crouched next to the body.

It was tall, dressed in torn leather, with a shredded green cape hanging by threads from its shoulders. Where the skin wasn’t grey, it was a dozen other shades between black and red, what looked like radiation burns warping it in gruesome patches, and severe bruising stretching down the palm of its left hand.

Steve carefully put his hands on it, flipping it onto its back, revealing a ghostly grey face and a blackened neck, glassy eyes and a bloodstained face. A man who looked like he could have died from any single one of the visible injuries, but Bucky found himself narrowing in on the neck marks. They looked like they’d been caused by something big.

“It’s Loki,” Steve said, staring down in shock. “Thor’s brother. He told us he died in space.”

Bucky breathed out, looking over their surroundings again. There were still no visible threats, but Bucky liked it even less now that they had an identification of their visitor. It made his arrival seem like even more of a targeted decision.

He exhaled heavily. “So why the hell is his corpse out here smashing my parsley?”

Steve put his fingers to bloated and blackened skin. A look of shock overcame his expression. “He’s not a corpse. He’s alive.”

Bucky tightened his hold on his gun. “What?”

“I’ve got a pulse,” Steve said.

Well, fuck.

They brought him into the house. The exposure to the sun had baked his skin, made the metal on his armor close to searing. Steve seemed to think moving him wouldn’t cause much of a problem making the damage worse, which made Bucky even less happy about what was going to happen if the guy didn’t just kick it and save him the trouble. He didn’t know much about Loki, but what he did know involved him singlehandedly killing dozens of people before attempting a massive invasion of Earth. The first wave, years before Thanos had taken them all out.

But he guessed this was happening. And at least one alien was a lot easier than a whole goddamn army.

The twenty minutes the doors had been open had let all of the cool air rush out of the house. Steve carried his burden down to the basement while Bucky gave one last check of the yard and the driveway, still expecting someone else to turn up at any moment. Bodies didn’t just end up in people’s yards at random.

But it looked like they were still good for the moment.

Bucky made his way down to the basement, where Steve had propped Loki up on one of the sturdy superhuman-withstanding exercise benches - which had, like the rest of the house, been a generous donation from the CEO of Stark Industries. Everyone who had taken part in that battle that was still on Earth had ended up a lot more financially comfortable in its aftermath.

Bucky hadn’t exactly been mentally comfortable with it, considering all that had gone down between him and the CEO’s husband. But there wasn’t a whole lot Bucky was a hundred percent comfortable with these days, and he’d just learned to work around that fact.

Like he was doing now, in this exact situation.

Loki was limp, reddened eyes still half-open with that eerie blank stare. There was no movement, nothing to so much hint at any attempts at respiration. But Steve and then Bucky confirmed that whatever pulse had been felt before was still there, if faint.

And was it Bucky’s imagination, or were the marks on his neck starting to look...better?

Bucky checked him for weapons while they tried to figure out how to get off the complicated armor. They ended up resorting to cutting free the parts they couldn’t disassemble themselves, and as the leather was pulled free it revealed just how much the armor was working to fill that body out.

This wasn’t a condition someone got into in a single fight, or even over the course of a week. There were signs of extreme and consistent deprivation - the most obvious of which was the emaciation, the bones pressing to skin. The second was the muscle atrophy. There were also more contusions and some wicked-looking scars, but those were superficial by comparison to everything else.

His left wrist was definitely broken. Bucky probed at it with metal fingers and saw shifting bones under what swelling there was beneath the stretched skin. His neck was in even worse shape, fucked to hell from what was a clearly crushing force, with widespread hematomas reaching down to his sternum. Bucky wished he didn’t have a suspicion of what exactly the type of weapon that injury might have come from.

He noticed with a start that leaning down like he was meant those dead eyes were locked directly onto him. He quickly pulled his hand away, moving out of range.

Steve performed his own assessment, and looked like he was coming to the same grim conclusions. He made eye contact with Bucky, face set and serious, and Bucky already knew that it was too much to hope for that this would be a situation that had an easy out. Like a simple bullet to the skull. Or just calling someone to take the entire thing off his hands.

He sighed, forehead creasing. “I’ll get the med kits.”

He came back down with a pack of supplies, and either the lighting was playing tricks with his eyes - which he knew had been perfect even before he’d been juiced up by an experimental HYDRA cocktail - or more of the grey was definitely seeping out of Loki’s skin. It looked like he was visibly improving even in the few minutes he’d been inside.

It was fucking weird. But Bucky wasn’t going to question it right now.

They bandaged and braced him as best they could. He still hadn’t taken any visible breaths, but every time they checked the pulse came back - sluggish, and weak, but there. If he had any kind of organ failure from his condition, it wasn’t taking him out.

They dressed him. He was all but swimming in a pair of Bucky’s black sweat pants, even with the drawstring pulled to its tightest, threatening to slide further down his jutting hipbones. The matching shirt wasn’t much better, the dark color offsetting his sickly pallor with a more dramatic contrast.

Steve briefed Bucky on what he knew about Loki - from the invasion, so Bucky had a better idea of what they’d be dealing with if he’d been at full strength, all the way to his supposed final death. The fact the general story was capped with what amounted to a final “and then he apparently stopped trying to murder everyone and was fine, probably” wasn’t much of a comfort.

Even if it sounded a little familiar.

“Guess you’re staying for dinner,” Bucky said, feeling some of his sour mood ease at Steve’s responding smile.

Steve dipped his head briefly. “I didn’t pack an overnight bag.”

“Tough,” Bucky said, crouching and organizing the supplies back into their places in the med kit. “I already had to surrender some of my clothes to the emaciated alien.”

Steve raised his eyebrows, sliding the last bandage roll within reach with his foot so Bucky could store it. “That sentence would make a lot more sense if you didn’t own about forty pairs of sweat pants.”

Bucky exhaled, wondering at the possessive urge sweeping through him. Yeah, maybe he could have used a shrink or five to help with unraveling some of the crap that was still in his head. But he thought he was doing good. For the most part. It was just that every once in a while there’d be a surprise of a wall that he would come up against when he was dealing with other people.

He didn’t really consider himself materialistic. But apparently the idea of sacrificing his clothes - just the dumb shit that he’d gone and picked out, trying to figure out which exact pair was the comfiest - was a lot more of a problem than his brain could just dump and move on.

It was Steve, though. That made it a lot easier.

Loki, on the other hand...

“Fine,” he said, getting to his feet with the med kit under his arm. “But you’re washing up again. And you’re taking the first watch.”

“Sounds fair,” Steve said, with a disarming smile, like he wasn’t confused about Bucky’s response. “How ‘bout a couple of shirts?”

“Don’t push it, Rogers.”

By the end of the night, everyone in the house was wearing a pair of Bucky’s sweat pants except for Bucky.

He gave Steve another solid pair, carefully avoiding his favorites - like the ones with the embroidered floral print down the sides, or the official Falcon ones he’d found at a yard sale. The second hadn’t actually been on display, he’d just seen one of the seller’s kids wearing them and offered them all the cash he’d had in his wallet. It had been worth it to see the look on Wilson’s face - annoyed at first, and then eventually he’d started constantly asking why Bucky wasn’t wearing them whenever he’d come to visit, no matter what Bucky was currently in the middle of doing.

Bucky didn’t bother getting changed himself. He already knew he wasn’t relaxed enough to get much sleep, even if he was making Steve be the one to stay up to keep an eye on their uninvited guest. And even if that uninvited guest looked like he’d been run over a few times by a tank and then sucked into a quinjet’s engines.

He went outside for some fresh air and checked the perimeter of his property two more times, across the grass and around the clusters of trees including the maple he’d been planning on tapping for the first time that year when winter rolled around. There were no signs that anyone had carried the body in.

He went back to the spot in the garden where they’d found Loki. There wasn’t anything disturbed but the patch of herbs he’d crushed; their fragrance hung heavy on the air.

As far as Bucky could tell, Loki hadn’t been dumped by anyone. He didn’t have any injuries consistent with damage from a fall. It was like he’d just appeared out of thin air, there on the ground.

Bucky did what he always did when there was a lull in his life and the things around him weren’t making much sense: he wrote in his journal. The tactile nature of it, getting the thoughts in his head down onto paper, helped him wind down after a stressful day. As a bonus, when he woke up he could reread it, just to prove to himself whatever new clusterfuck he went through had actually happened.

Of course, with this particular situation, proving it wasn’t going to be an issue. Unless Loki did him a favor and disappeared into thin air as quickly as he’d come in the first place.

Wishful thinking, he thought. But he did a lot of wishful thinking, these days. Sometimes he even managed to not feel guilty about it.

This time, he didn’t get the chance for much more of it.

Steve hadn’t even gone downstairs for the evening when it happened like a train wreck: the first sign of life. Bucky’s instincts felt it ahead of his higher brain functions, a wary terror that sent him shooting to his feet before his ears processed the inhuman howling coming up from beneath the floor. A gasp-wail, haunting and shrill, that sent both him and Steve rushing full speed towards the basement. Bucky didn’t bother to take the steps, just jumped over them to land at the ready at the bottom, with Steve joining him half a second later.

Loki wasn’t on the bench, or anywhere else in the rec room; Bucky could hear him, though - scraping at the floor like a desperate rat through the open bathroom door. The light in there was brighter than the dim bulb that covered the rest of the basement, and the layout of it meant there wouldn’t be many places to hide. Bucky let Steve take point as they approached.

“Loki?”

No answer, but the scrabbling abruptly cut off. Bucky could still hear the breathing, shallow and shredded wheezes coming from around the corner that sent his hackles stiff. Maybe to some people, a sound like that would be unusual, probably even worrying.

Most of what it told Bucky was that whatever was behind that door was weak, and severely injured, and just begging to be finished off.

Steve entered carefully, face front to the source of the noise, and some of the defensive set left his shoulders as his eyes grew more distressed. Bucky was only a step behind, so he got his own look soon enough.

The sight was unreal - it looked like Loki had been attempting to wedge his broken body between the sink and the toilet before it had given out. He was writhing on his back, chest heaving in shallow hitches like he was experiencing the throes of compressive asphyxia while simultaneously being strangled. His bloodshot eyes were wide and terrified, shooting to Steve as his teeth bared against his own choking breaths. His coloring had gone from grey to a chalky white, which only emphasized the grotesque tones of the blood pooled beneath his skin.

Steve, of course, moved closer. Bucky tensed hard as a rock but Loki didn’t lash out, just stayed supine as he let out another of those inhuman wheeze-screams. He looked like he was trying to move his limbs but couldn’t, and every time he failed he only grew more frantic, struggled that much more to take in air, and only made it harder for himself to breathe.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Steve said.

Speak for yourself, Bucky would have thought, if he wasn’t himself feeling taken aback at the fact that this heap of bones and bruises and burns was still anything like functional.

Loki didn’t say anything in response. His eyes were going glazed. Bucky thought of a baby rat he’d found one day in the garden, the dropped meal of a spooked hawk. How it had puffed air out in little labored hitches, before going still.

Loki did the same thing - his panicked breaths eventually ending in him going completely limp. Except he wasn’t dead.

Bucky’s heart was pounding in the aftermath. “You sure we shouldn’t just put him out of his misery?”

Steve looked at a loss. He carefully crouched down and put his hand to Loki’s neck. “His pulse feels stronger.”

“A lot of things that should be dead can still have a heartbeat,” Bucky said, voice coming out a little harsher than he’d intended.

Steve gave him a sharp look, and Bucky sighed through his nose as he recognized that stubbornness starting to build up. He’d given his two cents; Steve had denied them. Bucky would act like he was over it, and keep his misgivings to himself.

“Let’s get him back,” Steve said, reaching over to fix Loki’s clothes - the sweat pants were so loose on him he’d nearly lost them in his escape, hanging low over jutting hip bones.

Bucky took a step closer. “You’re not gonna call anyone?”

Steve shook his head. “I have a feeling none of our doctors are going to be able to help with this. Thor tends to just walk off his injuries - usually whatever science we have can’t keep up with what his body can do on its own.”

Bucky looked at the body on the floor in surprise. “You’re telling me you’re expecting him to just come back from this?”

Steve put his arms under Loki, carefully lifting him from the ground. He shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out.”

Chapter Text

The air was a mountain. It crushed him down and strained his bones.

He could barely move. He could hardly scream.

There were others with him. They were loud. Powerful. They had damaged him while he’d slept.

They knew his name. He’d forgotten it himself.

He’d forgotten words.

The air was a mountain. It threatened to crumble him into powder.

So he stopped breathing.

Sam had been down for a phone date with Bucky in the morning to plan his next visit to his house. Bucky wondered what the hell he was going to tell him as he fried up some eggs and sweet potato hash browns for breakfast.

Turned out he needn’t have worried, as while he was plating the food he got a text from Sam saying that official Captain America business was sidelining him for an extra week. You’re gonna have to wait on real food a little longer, the last text read.

Bucky took a snapshot of the breakfast he’d made and sent it over the phone.

It buzzed a moment later. Not bad. Your crisp work could be better. Leave them in the pan for a few more minutes next time.

He set the phone down, raising his fingers in a casual salute before he slid the dirty pan into the sink.

Steve’s voice sounded behind him. “That Sam?” His hair was still damp from his shower, a simple white tank top clinging to his body - more appropriate for the rising summer heat than the layers Bucky was dressed in. He was back in his pants from the day before - Bucky would offer for him to run his clothes through the washing machine that evening.

Bucky headed over to the other side of the counter to pour himself a cup of coffee. “He’s got a mission.”

Steve shook his head, mouth contorting into a small, sympathetic grimace. “I remember those days.”

Bucky gave him a flat stare, handing him his plate. “It’s been six months.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, a smartass curl to his mouth. “Makes them really easy to remember.”

Bucky shook his head, his eyes going to the basement door despite himself. It was hanging open, and there were no audible noises coming up from the bottom of the stairs. That didn’t stop a tingling sensation from coursing up and down his spine. He really didn’t like Loki down there unattended.

But after what had happened the first time he’d woken up, it seemed unlikely at this point he was going to have the physical capability to come bursting out in a murderous rampage any time soon.

While Steve opened the fridge and pulled out a jug of juice, Bucky wandered over to the door. He walked through it and stood on the top of the stairs, staring down at the limp body draped over the exercise bench.

Still real. Still staring emptily with those glassy, unmoving eyes on that hollow, ghostly face. Steve had arranged Loki’s broken wrist so his arm was resting over his torso; Bucky could see that the swelling around it had transformed into a brutal black, stretching over his hand and forearm.

He let the basement door slowly fall shut, making his way back towards the table. “At this point we probably should restart the timer.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Steve said, taking his seat.

Bucky sat down opposite him and started breaking apart his eggs with his fork. “Was he out all night?”

A muscle jumped in Steve’s cheek as he reached for the salt. “Not so much as a nightmare. He’s still alive, though.”

“And we’re still letting him stay that way?”

Steve gave him a look which told him he found that joke about as funny as Bucky had found his earlier.

“Just checking,” Bucky said, spearing the egg onto the hash browns and taking a large bite. The splash of rosemary and garlic on his tongue made his brain light up - he made a mental note to put the hash brown recipe he’d used on his list of keepers.

“We’ll keep him isolated,” Steve said. “At least until we have a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”

Steve wasn’t anxious or irritated with the situation like Bucky was. He wasn’t excited about it, per se, but there was a calm sense of purpose that seemed to be driving him ever since he’d realized Loki had a pulse.

It helped Bucky shake some of his paranoia. “You think he likes eggs?”

Steve paused with his glass of juice halfway to his mouth. “You know? I don’t actually know that much about him.”

“Other than he’s basically indestructible.” Bucky took another bite, gulping it down faster than the first.

“He’s definitely strong,” Steve said. “They told me ‘immortal’ when I first went up against him, and I didn’t really believe it then.”

“What about now?”

“Now, somehow it makes more and less sense.”

Steve had just basically described how Bucky had felt about his entire life since he’d broken free of HYDRA’s programming. “Has Thor ever ended up that bad?”

“Not physically,” Steve said. “At least not that I’ve ever seen. Rocket said getting beat by Thanos and thrown into space after a ship exploded around him just made him need to nap for fifteen minutes to recover.”

“God,” Bucky breathed. “That’s the guy whose unliftable magical hammer you lifted?”

Steve dropped his eyes, his smile a little bashful. “That didn’t really have to do with strength.”

“Yeah, it did,” Bucky asserted.

Steve’s smile widened. He tucked into his food.

Bucky kept looking towards the door, but the basement stayed quiet.

Sam texted Bucky to check in again that evening - his mission had just been a simple scuffle. Nothing worth writing home about and no need to call anyone out of retirement. He was still planning on coming over after he was done, barring any more criminal catastrophes.

Bucky didn’t mention the criminal catastrophe staying in his basement that had already effectively brought him and Steve out of retirement. He really hoped that this time jumping back in would end in something a little less hectic than an alien war and the slow dissemination of his molecules.

He still dreamed about that, sometimes. He wondered if any of the others that had gone through it did. Half of all sentient life, haunted by the same memory.

They hadn’t talked about it - what had happened to Bucky. What Steve had been forced to watch, before his five years of mourning that had ended in the victory of all victories.

It’d been the first time in their entire lives Bucky had ever seen Steve even entertain the idea of stopping. After he’d returned the infinity stones to their own timelines, he’d come back satisfied and heavy-hearted. Then he’d handed his shield over to Sam.

He’d disappeared for a couple of months after that. After Stark’s wedding, which had been a sparsely attended affair, but before the post-war celebration, which had been exactly the opposite. He’d given a brief explanation that he was going to try to get a life, before he'd faded off everyone’s radar.

They hadn’t talked about that, either. How Romanoff had come to Bucky’s house clearly looking for leads on where Steve had gone. How Sam had come over to practice shield-throwing with Bucky in absence of its original owner.

Maybe he’d taken a break. Maybe he’d spent some time in Wakanda after seeing how good it had been for Bucky. Or maybe he’d gone to help any number of the thousands of causes for post-apocalyptic collective trauma around the world, trying to clean up in the aftermath of the sudden reappearance of half of all life.

He’d come back eventually. Started working on running a self-help group a couple times a month. And every once in a while, there’d be a dimness to his eyes that looked as old as Bucky felt.

Not now, though. Now, it was almost like Steve was remembering something.

Loki didn’t move for two more days. Bucky returned to his daily chores during Steve’s watches - he swept, watered the plants in the garden, checked the lettuce for signs of bolting, and pulled a few weeds. The parsley plants were still half-crushed but signs of new growth were already sprouting up from their centers. Bucky took a moment to be thankful Loki hadn’t hit something that was a little less able to bounce back.

He took his gun and walked the property multiple times a day. Other than the birds and a squirrel that barked warningly as it lashed its tail violently in the trees above, there were no signs of any infiltration.

He took his own watches, stared at Loki’s unconscious body, and went back and forth on whether or not he believed what Steve had told him about the potential for a recovery.

They hadn’t done shit. Hadn’t given Loki food, or fluids, or even very thorough bandages or splints - just a room with an even temperature and a somewhat padded exercise bench. Still, the bruises and burns were receding at the edges, and at a much faster rate than any human that would have somehow managed to keep going through that magnitude of damage.

Of course, Loki wasn’t human. But even after hearing the stories about Thor, Bucky found himself grudgingly impressed. And horrified.

And, fuck - interested.

When the next burst into consciousness came, he and Steve were both in the basement in the middle of playing a game of cards.

Again, that sound was the first thing that came out - a broken cry that sent Bucky’s pulse firing on all cylinders and his jaw clenching. Having a full view of it as it happened didn’t make it any easier to handle.

Loki’s throat was stretched out, the areas where the swelling hadn’t deformed it starkly corded with tendons as he arched like someone had applied a taser slug to his spine. Then he slumped down, jerked to the side, and slid to the floor in a tangle of long limbs.

Steve was there first, trying to get Loki’s attention, even though it looked like Loki was just trying his damndest to crawl himself back into the bathroom on trembling limbs. The sweat pants almost immediately came down again past his wasted hips.

Bucky rushed in front of him, crouching down and clamping his metal hand firmly against a bony shoulder to stop him, to try and get him to listen.

At the contact, Loki stopped completely, like he’d been stunned. A full body shudder vibrated through him and a half-choked wheezing noise threaded through his grinding teeth. For a moment, Bucky thought it felt like he was leaning into the touch, like a frightened dog.

Then Loki violently twitched, and the look he directed to Bucky almost had him immediately letting go.

Frightened dog had been apt. There was only animal terror in those eyes, the irises almost grey with how leeched they were of life. They showed nothing of any kind of sense, and when Loki finally seemed to regain himself and decide to fight Bucky, to keep going forward, his strength was…

He was weak.

Of course he was, with the condition his body was in, but the way Steve had told it even Asgardian bones were as dense as vibranium. Bucky could feel the shoulder beneath his hand creaking, threatening to splinter with the lightest pressure.

Then Loki tried to jerk forward against Bucky’s grip, and there was a crack.

The howl returned, an agonized symphony sending chills straight down Bucky’s spine. The body beneath his hand snarled, eyes wild and rolling from the bathroom towards him.

That was what finally made Bucky let go. Instead of trying to continue his progress, Loki just curled in on himself on the floor, black hair spilling over his face, favoring the brand new injury Bucky had accidentally given him.

Bucky clenched and unclenched his metal hand, a sick feeling in his stomach. What the hell was this?

“Loki,” Steve was saying urgently - he hadn’t noticed what Bucky had done. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

Too late, Bucky thought. His eyes went back to the neck injury, the marks that stood out the most harshly out of all of them.

Loki moaned, a whisper of a sound, and when he moved so his face was exposed again Bucky could see his eyelids fluttering. He seemed to slowly get control of himself. Instead of acknowledging Bucky or Steve, he just looked towards the bathroom again with wide eyes, feverish and desperate. He reached out with his good side, mindlessly trying to pull himself forward, new noises of strangled pain coming forth as he jostled his fresh injury.

Bucky didn’t know how Loki was even moving. His body looked like it was failing around him and he had to be in incredible pain, but he was driving himself through it towards the bathroom anyway.

What was in there that he wanted so badly?

Steve joined Bucky in blocking him, not putting any effort into physically restraining him but creating enough of a wall that he would have to put a considerable amount of energy into getting around them.

“Loki,” Steve tried again. “Stop. We’re here to help you.”

If Loki heard the words, he didn’t acknowledge them. But even he seemed to realize that he wasn’t going to get much farther with the two man barricade in front of him. He slumped, eyes clamping shut, and let out another faint and hopeless moan that sent Bucky’s hackles up again.

“Let him go into the bathroom,” Bucky said, feeling like he just wanted all of this to stop. “He wants something in there.”

Steve looked at Bucky in confusion, but rose at the same time he did, and they watched as Loki again took up the journey on limbs that violently shook. The bathroom wasn’t far. Once inside of it, Loki collapsed, breaths moving in shallow hitches through his chest.

After almost a full minute of ignoring them in favor of just breathing, Loki swallowed roughly, his bloodshot eyes finally focusing on Steve.

His lips moved, and he sounded exactly what Bucky thought he’d sound like, with a throat looking like that. Almost no volume, now that he wasn’t trying to shriek his guts out. His voice cracked and broke over each syllable, like his body had broken beneath Bucky’s grip.

He wouldn’t stop writhing, or fighting to breathe. Just existing looked like it was killing him.

He tried to speak again. It was almost unintelligible, but Bucky thought he saw the word Captain shaped by his lips.

Steve moved closer to him, crouching down. Loki flinched, his good arm curling upwards to defensively cover his face as he clenched his fingers into his own hair. He was taller than both of them but huddled on the floor like that, his body nothing but skin and bones, he looked immeasurably small. He cringed from Steve, then started shivering like he was going into shock.

Maybe he was. Hell, from what Bucky had seen so far, he could probably survive shock, easy as pie.

Steve spoke gently but firmly. “Loki, can you understand me?”

The shivering kept on. Steve tried a few more times before there was finally a response from behind the curved limb.

“Th...Thor,” Loki rasped, muffled and nearly silent.

“He’s not here,” Steve said. Loki twitched violently, sucking in another thread of a strenuous breath. “I can try to get a message out to him, but we’re not expecting him to come back to Earth for a long time.”

Loki made a desolate noise, curling further into himself. His chest jerked like he was trying to sob, and was cut off from doing so by stabs of pain from his injuries.

Steve leaned over him, but didn’t try to get closer when all that seemed to do was make Loki panic more, which in turn made his breathing grow agonizingly labored. “What do you need? We’d like to help you recover as much as we can.”

Loki made another wordless sound, just struggling to breathe for a few more seconds. His voice when it came back was a weak croak. “Need...light.”

And that was it from Loki for the night.

Bucky stood in the middle of his basement bathroom, trying to come down from the stress of what had just happened. “The fuck did he mean, ‘need light?’”

“I don’t know,” Steve said, staring down at Loki with confusion and not a small amount of new determination. He reached out carefully, touching the back of a limp hand, as if he was worried Loki was going to shoot back awake in terror.

Bucky’s own confusion and panic wasn’t letting him let it go. “It’s not some kind of alien thing?”

“It’s not anything I’ve seen with Loki before,” Steve said, sounding way too steady for what had just happened. He pressed his fingers to Loki’s neck again, against what was quickly becoming a kaleidoscope of bruising. “He’s still with us.”

Bucky looked between the basement and the bathroom, noting the disparity in brightness in the bulbs. “Is he afraid of the dark?”

“The first time I met him we ended up in the pitch black on a mountainside,” Steve said, setting his hand back on his knee. “He seemed pretty okay with it.” He did his own scan of the bathroom, like that would hold any answers.

“That was in 2012,” Bucky said, still tense.

“Yeah,” Steve confirmed.

“And everyone thought he was dead.”

“That’s what Thor told us.” He jerked a shoulder up and let it fall. “Except he’d thought he was dead about twice before that.”

“Right,” Bucky said, like he understood what the hell that meant. “So where was he?”

“I guess that’s the question,” Steve said.

Wasn’t it just.

Bucky’s physiological responses to the situation were finally starting to calm down, though.

Loki had been conscious for longer than he had last time. He’d spoken. It was all tracking with the rest of his body’s miraculous improvements.

Steve looked at Loki again, wincing at the sight of him, and then inched closer so he could start grimly rearranging his clothes to cover the damage. “If he wakes up outside of the bathroom again, he’s probably just going to have the same reaction.”

Of course he would, Bucky thought. But the change in scenery wasn’t going to change much about the fact that Loki was still suffering just from being alive.

Steve stood up, gazing down at the crumpled body. “Do you have any extra blankets?”

Bucky swallowed harshly, broken out of his head by the question. “In the closet in the hall outside my room.”

“I’ll be right back,” Steve said.

Alone with Loki, Bucky didn’t move any closer to him. This close and having seen Loki’s nearly half-naked body, Bucky could tell now that it wasn’t just his grip that had hurt him. There was new bruising forming on the side of his face and torso and hip from where he had thudded against the floor after he’d fallen from the bench.

Bucky had the feeling that if he punched into Loki’s spine, it would snap like a brittle twig.

Killing him would probably be simple. Bucky even wondered if it would be the more humane choice. He told himself it wasn’t concern making him think that - it was just expediency.

But all arrows pointed to the fact that Loki was still improving. That didn’t make Bucky feel much better, considering it meant there was a possibility he’d one day wake up with his strength completely regained. They still didn’t know if he was going to be half as peaceful as in the stories of how he’d acted before his ‘death.’

Bucky sighed. After the way Loki had cowered, even he was starting to lose his hold on the conviction of those kinds of thoughts.

Steve brought down the blankets. Bucky helped to spread them out, layering them one on top of the other until they made a plush pile over the tiles. Then Steve carefully lifted Loki with gentle hands, and lowered him onto his new cradle of comforters on the bathroom floor.

Bucky watched him, and thought Loki was damn lucky that Steve had been here for this. “Guess you’re staying another night.”

“Guess so,” Steve said, sitting back on his heels.

Bucky stared, feeling another invisible barrier in his head come down. “I don’t do plaid or button down collared shirts.”

Steve looked up at him in surprise. He got to his feet, clapping Bucky on his shoulder. “Of course not. I didn’t expect you to have developed any kind of taste.”

Bucky’s responding smile felt a little weak, but he was going to call the fact that he’d managed to do it at all a win.

Especially with the echo of Loki’s breaking shoulder still making the rounds in his head.

Chapter Text

The last thing Steve had expected when he’d come to visit Bucky was for the man responsible for driving the very first Avengers to band together to make a surprise reappearance when he was supposed to have died years ago.

Okay - maybe not the last thing. After time travel, there was some pretty steep competition in terms of expectations about the shocks life could bring.

Like the circumstances in which Loki had apparently died. The scattered details Steve had gotten about them had come in the midst of some of Thor’s drunken, emotional ramblings back when they’d been planning the Time Heist.

According to Thor, Loki had done everything he could to help as many of the Asgardians as possible escape an attack. Then he’d given up the Tesseract to save Thor’s life, and went down trying to put a knife in Thanos’s throat.

At the time, Thor’s story had seemed pretty unbelievable. During Steve’s only encounter with him, Loki had been driven, insane, and gleeful for Earth’s subjugation. The Chitauri army hadn’t been his, but his intentions as its general had been real enough.

But that had been years ago. Now Steve was looking at a grotesquely darkened neck, purple marks swimming in a sea of yellow. He had a feeling that if the Infinity Gauntlet had been there, its grasp would be a perfect fit against the worst hues of bruising and abrasions.

Every other death Thanos had caused in his rampage had been a means to an end to achieve his mission. With Loki, it had been personal.

Bucky had been giving Steve some pretty long-suffering looks since he’d brought Loki in, but other than the repeated suggestions that he thought finishing Loki off seemed like the best plan, Bucky hadn’t tried too hard to get rid of him.

That was good. Without Thor around, Steve didn’t know how the rest of the world would react to Loki’s appearance. There were Asgardians still around on Earth, but even when it came to them Steve wasn’t sure what the current general consensus would be. And they kept things pretty well locked up from outsiders.

Besides all of that, Loki didn’t look like he was ready for a trip to Norway, let alone bundled in secret so no one would recognize him. Not that he was very recognizable in the condition he was in now - all but swimming in Bucky’s clothes, his sallow skin pulled paper-thin over his bones. The clothes covered a lot but they didn’t hide his arms, or his neck, or the way it looked like Steve could see every dip in his skull.

Bucky had only put his hand on Loki once, and from then on had let Steve handle him with a strange look in his eyes. When Steve questioned him on it, Bucky anxiously flexed the fingers of his metal hand.

“I think I broke his shoulder,” he said.

Steve pulled the collar of Loki’s shirt to the side and saw the fresh blotches of brilliant red-purple swelling that had formed beneath it, stretching into the hollow of his clavicle.

“There’s something going on with him,” Bucky said, the guilt in his eyes only growing stronger with the protest. “I hardly applied any pressure.”

“He’s still healing,” Steve said. He knew Bucky hadn’t done it on purpose. “If he can come back from everything else, he can come back from that, too.”

Bucky nodded, but he looked the furthest thing from reassured. “I don’t know how the hell he can just not breathe and keep going.”

“I don’t exactly know, either,” Steve answered honestly. “But he’s making progress.”

Maybe not miraculously, like some of the things Steve had seen Thor shake off and keep fighting through - Thanos using his own ax to nearly bisect his chest, for one. But during his time as an active duty Avenger, Steve had gotten at least somewhat acquainted with what magic did for Thor physically.

He had a feeling at least something similar would be in play for Loki. The transitioning bruises were a good sign.

Bucky didn’t have the background to make any similar hunches - his voice came out flat with disbelief. “Progress with no food or water or air. We’re still heads or tails on possible organ failure. How fast do you think his heart would give out if we tried an IV?”

Steve looked at Bucky, the exasperation he felt quick to fade when he realized that instead of yet another bad joke about them killing Loki, the question had instead been completely sincere.

He crouched and put his hand back to Loki’s neck, noting the increase in disparate coolness of the skin beneath his. The pulse took its time. Bucky’s scowl grew deeper the longer Steve stayed silent. When the beat finally came, it was as faint as all the other instances he had checked.

He sighed, drawing his hand away and standing back up. “When he’s awake next time we can try something.”

“His heart was racing when I touched him,” Bucky said. His metal fingers were fidgeting, his thumb rubbing in a circular motion against the other digits. “Like it was trying to make up for lost time.”

Steve remembered how Loki had come to life like someone jumpstarting a car - if the car had the ability to feel the pain of every watt of voltage tearing through it.

“Maybe it’s all part of the process,” Steve said, injecting his voice with calm. “You want me to take the first watch?”

“I’m starting to think he’s not going to cause any problems,” Bucky said with a cautious glance towards the main basement room. “Not for a while, anyway.” He looked down at his metal hand, staring at the shining surface, before he quickly dropped it.

Steve frowned in concern, taking a step closer to him. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, but he only met Steve’s eyes for a second before he went back to staring at Loki. “Sam’s supposed to come over in two weeks. What do you think I should tell him?”

Sam would have probably made sure Steve was considering all avenues of how this could go extremely, severely wrong. As Bucky had pointed out, though, in Loki’s condition it didn’t look like any of those things were going to be of concern in their immediate futures.

Steve shrugged. “To be honest, I’m not sure he’d be that surprised.”

Bucky stared at him, resignation settling back in over his expression. He sighed, rotating his metal wrist. “I’m gonna go check the yard and water the plants,” he announced, heading for the stairs. “I’ll come back and relieve you in a few hours.”

“Dance with me.”

“I don’t know...”

“Did you find someone else?”

“No. Not - no.”

“Then you’re not in any danger of being disloyal.”

“That’s not really the problem.”

“You’re worried I’m trying to convince you to stay.”

“I’m more worried that I’ll want to.”

“Steve, I’m not naive enough to think that ending a single war means the end to all wars. We both have more we need to do. And if my work is what inspired you to yours, that’s all the more reason for me to continue it now. So be quiet, and give me your hand.”

“All right. I guess I did make a promise.”

“You’re damn right you did.”

“Steve.”

Steve woke up in the dark of Bucky’s guest bedroom, like he had for every morning of the last week. His gaze went to the brightness of the hallway, where Bucky’s silhouette was a shadowed shape in the doorway. The night was balmy, enough that Steve had kicked off the blankets before drifting off, but Bucky was still dressed in the black jacket he’d donned for his perimeter check earlier in the evening. He’d tied his hair back, only a few of the shorter strands freely dangling over the front of his face.

It made it easier for Steve to see the tension in his expression from across the room. “Loki’s awake.”

Steve didn’t bother to change or put on shoes. He pulled himself from the bed and padded after Bucky as he led him back to the basement.

“He didn’t scream this time,” Steve said as they descended the steps, thinking that was good news.

“No,” Bucky said. “But I’m not sure that makes whatever this is any better.”

Loki was still awake when they reached him, curled up on his side in the center of the blanket pile. The loose shirt he wore was riding up enough to bare a couple inches of his frail and wasted torso. His unkempt hair was gripped in his fist and his eyes were screwed shut. The ragged and shallow breaths that he managed to take in were edged by a tremor that it took Steve several seconds to recognize as weeping.

With Loki’s injuries, the fetal posture he’d twisted into had to be especially painful to maintain. Whatever he was feeling emotionally was driving him to fight through it to stay huddled up.

Steve frowned, not sure how to proceed with this change. “How long has he been like this?”

“About fifteen minutes,” Bucky said. He’d gone even tenser now that they were in the bathroom. “He won’t talk to me. I held out as long as I could before I went running to you.” He gestured unhappily to a bottle sitting on the floor - a couple feet away from the blankets, like he’d been worried about getting too close. “I offered him a drink. He didn’t take it.”

Steve took a step closer to Loki; Bucky stayed back where he was.

Steve crouched down. This was only the third time Loki had woken up, but it was already starting to feel like a routine.

He moderated the volume of his voice so it wouldn’t be excessive, but still loud enough to carry over the muffled noises coming from behind Loki’s clamped lips. “Loki, it’s Steve Rogers.”

Loki flinched, his shoulders coming up sharply. It wasn’t as severe a reaction as the last time he’d woken up, which was probably a small reassurance, if any at all. Steve was going to take it anyway.

He kept his tone even. “Do you think you can drink something?”

Loki didn’t respond, not even when the question was repeated to make sure he’d heard it.

Steve stared, wracking his brain for anything else he could do without setting Loki off. Running a support group for a few years had given him a few more tools in his box when it came to listening and talking to those in emotional distress, but usually it was better if the other party had the willingness to engage.

“What’s our next step?” Bucky asked. When Steve turned to look up at him, he met his eyes grimly. “If this is the same as the last couple of times, we probably only have another minute or two before he passes out again.”

Bucky was right. Steve looked at Loki again, both less certain that he knew what to do to help him and somehow more certain that getting anyone else involved would just make it worse.

Steve moved closer. Loki’s shuddering breaths went more erratic, but he didn’t try to move away.

The reaction meant he was cognizant of the fact that Steve was there, though. In fact, when Steve changed his position just a few inches, he could see through the fall of hair that Loki’s bloodshot eyes had opened and were glued to the ground.

Steve reached out for the bottle Bucky had left, slowly and gently setting it closer. Loki flinched again, a noise sounding in his throat as his forehead pinched. His eyes darted up, and then back down.

“We thought if you had something to drink it would help you recover,” Steve said.

Loki’s breath spurted in and out of his thin chest, his legs drawing in closer to his torso. He didn’t respond verbally, but Steve thought the twitch of a shake that he did with his head must have been a form of communication instead of an involuntary response.

No, he didn’t want it? Or no, it wouldn’t help him recover?

Loki slumped before Steve could find out more, his hand falling limply from its grip on his hair. His face wasn’t quite slack, but the distress had left it. The room seemed oddly quiet without the sounds of him struggling to breathe.

Steve took stock of Loki’s condition, stamping down his frustration as he tried to take note of the continued improvements in his injuries.

“He’s afraid of us,” Bucky said. “He thinks we’re going to kill him.”

Steve smoothed out the blanket so he could put the bottle even further within Loki’s reach. “Well, he’ll have to change his mind about that eventually, because we’re not.”

Bucky snorted, his voice dry. “Hopefully he does us a favor and realizes that before he gets his strength back.”

The next time, it took less than a day.

Bucky was upstairs making dinner, the sound of dishes clinking and savory scents drifting down to the basement.

Steve had pulled a chair into the basement bathroom and was sitting curled over a sketchbook. The bruises on Loki’s body seemed to be getting fainter even faster, now. Steve found himself doing brief sketches of Loki’s hand and wrist once every hour, idly keeping track of their lessening intensity.

The stilted breathing started first, making Steve glance up from his drawing. It was still awkward, like Loki was fighting to take in air against a heavy weight on his chest. Then his eyes shot open and he made an aborted convulsing motion against the blankets, grimacing. His gaze darted around the room, and Steve saw that the dramatic red splotches that had been all but consuming the whites of his eyes were beginning to recede.

They came to rest on Steve, and then Loki’s limbs went still. Air wheezed through his throat. He looked like…

Like he was trying not to move so he wouldn’t be noticed.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Steve said, for what felt like the dozenth time.

Loki’s brow creased, as if Steve was speaking a language he didn’t understand. Then he shifted with a grimace, laboriously curling into himself, and closed his eyes. If not for the way he continued to struggle to breathe through parted lips, Steve would have thought he’d passed out again.

Unfortunately for Loki, he wasn’t going to waste this opportunity for communication.

“You stop breathing when you’re unconscious,” Steve said.

Loki shuddered, his eyes blinking back open. He didn’t look at Steve, or say anything in response.

“That bottle is still there,” Steve said, pointing with his pencil. “I can help you with it if you don’t think you can drink it by yourself.”

There was more of a reaction when it came to that statement - Loki hissed out a breath through clenched teeth. His fingers twitched, and he looked a little like he was bracing himself for an attack.

Not a rousing sign of agreement or cooperation.

Before Steve could try his next method, approaching footsteps sounded on the stairs, with Bucky’s voice trailing down along with them. “I’m getting the feeling you’re not talking to someone on your phone.”

Loki hadn’t exactly reacted well to Steve, but when he heard Bucky coming, something in his eyes changed. It was like the fear and hate that was lingering at the backs of them just got dialed up to twenty and pushed to the front.

Bucky came to a stiff stop in the bathroom, henley sleeves still pulled up around his elbows. He stared down at Loki, his hands curled at his sides. “He’s up even quicker, now.”

Loki’s teeth were almost fully bared, eyes set in a full-on glare. The level of awareness was new - which meant it was more likely he had been trying to ignore Steve earlier, but he definitely wasn’t ignoring Bucky.

Bucky noticed the look, and his whole demeanour changed. Not dramatically, but the way he held himself and the set of his jaw both went a little more rigid. Quiet, and focused.

Loki’s eyes dropped to Bucky’s prosthetic. Bucky clenched his hands even tighter.

“I was just telling Loki I could help him drink if he needed it,” Steve said, trying to bring the level of tension in the room back down.

“And what did he say to that,” Bucky asked, still not looking away from Loki.

“He hasn’t said anything,” Steve said. “Not since he woke up the first time.”

“When he said he needed the light and asked about Thor.”

At his brother’s name, Loki’s eyebrows pinched closer together. His gasps took on a harsher edge.

Steve sat a little straighter. “You’re reacting when we mention Thor,” he observed.

Loki’s hand made a clawing motion. He broke eye contact with Bucky to look back towards Steve. His throat worked, and his voice came out in a halting rasp. “You said…” He didn’t keep going, and Steve didn’t know whether it was because he didn’t want to or because he was physically incapable.

Mindful of their short timeframe with Loki, Steve didn’t let his surprise at the return of spoken words stall his response. “We don’t know where he is,” he said. “But we’ll see if we can figure out a way to contact him.”

Instead of looking comforted, Loki’s snarl deepened. Then, a second later, his face just - crumpled. He quickly brought his arm up to hide it, pressing his forearm over his eyes, sinking his fingers back into his hair. The shuddering cry-breaths made a return.

A cooking timer went off upstairs, sharp and insistent. Bucky swore under his breath, a reaction that Steve might have teased him about if he wasn’t still distracted by Loki all but openly sobbing on the floor.

“I’m not helping here, anyway,” Bucky said, vacating the room without another word.

Loki had no reaction, relief or otherwise, to Bucky leaving. He just kept making soft sounds in his throat, his eyelids clamped closed.

Steve set down his sketchbook and slid from the chair, thinking that this time he wasn’t going to just let Loki huddle there and suffer. He carefully reached out.

Loki slumped in a dead faint before he could touch him.

Steve froze, then gently pressed his fingers to Loki’s quickly chilling neck, waiting patiently for the telltale thump.

That could have gone better.

He gathered his sketchbook and his pencil, and turned the page back to the one that was riddled with an uneven row of Loki’s injured hand. It had now fallen in a different spot from where it had been when Steve had drawn them, and Loki’s body was casting heavy shadows over the bruises, making them appear darker. His fingers were contorted, curled close to his chest.

Steve sighed. He put his pencil to paper and started a new row.

Chapter Text

The world flashed in and out.

Each time he woke it was with the same burst of his jaggedly pumping heart. The same bright panic that threatened to choke him. And when it did not, there was still an overbearing weight upon his limbs and chest, making every breath he did manage to drag through his dry throat that much more of an arduous labor.

But there were also changes.

Amongst them were the soft blankets that cradled his body and cushioned his bones from the harshness of the ground. There was an encompassing warmth that spread all around him and kept the chill from his deadened limbs. A light that spread its radiance to every corner of the room, so bright he could even see it even when his eyes were shut.

And, more importantly, there was air.

It brought with it sounds and smells and signs of life. They were sometimes harsh and overwhelming, yet now when he felt his body begin to drag him back down, being forced to leave was almost as terrifying as when he woke to the crush of the world.

For the world was still crushing, and his growing desire to stay conscious within it did not dampen the physical pain he felt, or the despair that rose every time he managed to think beyond his primal urges.

However, each shuddering burst into consciousness revealed that the comforts that had been given to him were lasting. Beyond the metal-armed man wounding him, neither he nor the Captain had further damaged him.

Maybe they believed that with that action, their point had been proven. Whatever the reason, he knew they had to be well aware that in his present condition, he was no threat. He needed time, and he had...he had hoped...

What he had hoped for had not come to pass.

Even though the Captain and his friend did not actively seek to harm him, neither would they leave him in peace. They asked him questions - though mostly the Captain. Questions that seemed geared towards attempting to get him to improve his own well-being.

It made little sense. Perhaps they wanted him well enough that they might instigate further interrogations. Perhaps their world had ended just as much as his. But if it had, how he had come to fall into their hands made even less sense.

It did not change the fact that his options were extremely limited, if severely better than...before.

And he barely remembered who he was, beyond the broken body that suffered and yearned and withstood the sensations that buffeted him like waves upon a crumbling rock. But the threads were now slowly starting to come together, and with them, a choice: to continue, or to fade.

After everything he had survived so far, it seemed that one of those things was substantially more likely.

Steve was beginning to wonder if Bucky could sense something he couldn’t.

Their watches had gotten looser as the days went on. Bucky cooked and tended to his garden and went for runs. Steve did the dishes and went for his own jogs and spent a lot of time buried in his sketchbook. Mornings and evenings they mostly spent together, but somehow Bucky still managed to time it so he wasn’t in the basement each of the next few times Loki woke up.

It didn’t seem like it would have made a difference who was watching him, because Loki did an excellent job of almost ignoring Steve completely for two entire rounds of his brief consciousness.

Steve could tell Loki was still aware of his surroundings. He reacted to movements - though mostly with flinching and near-hyperventilation. He even responded once with a tense and adamant refusal when Steve tried to bring up the subject of eating or drinking.

Most of the time, he just looked like he was just trying his hardest to disappear.

If Steve had been younger, he might have been a lot more worried that he was out of his depth. He might have shared Bucky’s heavy anxiety about Loki’s condition and engaged in the same second-guessing. From powerful would-be world conqueror to cowering on the basement floor in Bucky’s clothes, unable to even stand, Loki didn’t exactly paint the image of someone on the road to recovery.

He’d been through a lot. Steve didn’t know what, exactly, but he knew it couldn’t have been good. Or quick. And his identity didn’t change the fact that just looking at how he acted while awake was enough to make Steve’s stomach ache.

For a while, there wasn’t much sense of moving forward beyond the changing injuries. Steve had more pages of his sketchbook filled now, mapping the reduction in swelling and changes in intensity of his marks. Bucky took surreptitious looks at them when he came down to hand off whatever meal he’d prepared, still seemingly baffled about Loki’s healing.

Then, one day, Loki finally took the drink.

Steve didn’t know what prompted it. Loki had moved so slowly and quietly while Steve was engaged enough with his current drawing that he almost didn’t see it happen at all.

He looked up in time to see the grimace that came over Loki’s face as he twisted the cap off with the gargantuan effort of a trembling grip. He took a quick mouthful, and froze, an odd expression coming over his face. He’d probably been expecting plain water, Steve thought, instead of something flavored by electrolytes and minerals. He didn’t spit it out, but swallowed like he was reluctant to do it, followed by a wince of discomfort. He just as soon raised the bottle back to his mouth. Again, that pause came, though this time it seemed calmer, Loki’s eyes directed somewhere into the middle distance. Then, he gulped convulsively, setting the bottle aside.

Steve felt something inside of him loosen with relief. “What changed now?”

Loki’s eyes darted to Steve, briefly, like he was just remembering he was there. He was clearly nervous, but it didn’t look like he was out and out panicked like he had been before.

Steve rearranged his grip on his pencil. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Loki’s eyes twitched, and then narrowed. His jaw clenched and he laboriously moved himself with his good arm, twisting his long legs, favoring a dozen seen and unseen hurts. He carefully slumped back against the wall behind him with a small sound of exertion, his long legs nearly forced to bend as they came up against the rustic cabinets across from him. He stared at Steve through half-lidded eyes, his chest moving in strangely rough bursts.

A shudder wracked his thin frame and his throat worked. “Are you planning on killing me?”

The words, like all the others Loki had spoken, were whispered. But there was a flatness to them - to his entire face, especially the near-grey eyes that stared unblinkingly at Steve. He didn’t sound like he cared about the answer to that question one way or the other.

But then Steve set down his pencil, and Loki flinched violently enough that he let out a sharp grunt of agony through bared teeth as his injuries protested.

Bucky had been right. Loki was scared of them. Even now, when it looked like he was coming back enough to talk and realize where he was.

“No,” Steve said. “We found you injured in the yard. We brought you inside so you could get better.”

Loki blinked rapidly. His breaths were still too quick, his haunted gaze darting calculatingly over Steve. “Why?”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “We weren’t just going to leave you out there.”

Loki’s brow twitched minutely. “Shouldn’t you have called your Earth authorities to cage me?”

Steve let the continued speaking encourage him that they were going down the right route. “It didn’t seem needed,” he said wryly.

Loki didn’t appreciate the humor. If anything, the wariness in his eyes grew. They jumped around the room, though there really wasn’t much for him to take in besides the shower and the toilet and the blankets he was resting on. His mind looked like the wheels were turning at full speed but he was starting to lose what little energy he’d had to begin with. There was a tremble in his limbs that was growing more pronounced and just as Steve realized it was more physical than psychological, Loki collapsed back down onto the blankets.

Steve stood from the chair but his movement was met with a sharp hiss and a raised arm and legs curling in close.

Steve kept himself back with frustrated effort, moderating his tone. “We’re not locking you up unless you give us a reason to. There’s no ulterior motives here. We’d like to know what happened to you but that’s not exactly necessary right now.”

Loki took in a shuddering breath. His arm dropped enough that Steve could see his scowl and viciously grinding teeth through the fall of black strands.

He didn’t believe him. Not yet.

He was also making odd noises at the end of each breath. Steve belatedly noticed that Loki must have landed on the shoulder Bucky had crushed days before.

“Let me help you move to a better position,” Steve said.

Loki snarled, arm jerking again in an aborted motion. “Do not. Touch me.”

He was losing his grip. Steve could see the angry glint to his eyes dimming, the way his breathing went more and more ragged as he faded.

Then he let out a noise that was like a whimper, and slumped the rest of the way down.

Steve ground his jaw, his stomach slow to recover from its odd jolts at the encounter.

Loki was still on his injured shoulder.

Steve moved him further from the wall by pulling the blankets along with him, so he could roll him onto his back with the least contact possible. Then he paused, frowning. Loki felt...different. With a jolt Steve realized that his chest was still moving.

He put his hand to his neck.

His pulse was steady.

“I’ll be damned,” Bucky said when he found out, eyes locked on Loki’s expanding chest. The shock in them faded as he sighed, meeting Steve’s gaze, a muscle in his cheek jumping. “So he’s really our problem, now.”

It didn’t exactly change how long Loki stayed unconscious, but his healing rate took a major change for the better - more in line with what Steve would have expected from Thor. In no time the bruises were all but gone, only faded red marks left in their wake.

And when he woke up again, it was slower - less like his soul was being jolted back into his own body and more like a heavy sleeper struggling to rouse. His bleary eyes darted around his surroundings, lips thinning before he dropped his head back down, gaze directed upwards.

It was just Steve; Bucky had gone out for groceries not long ago.

“Captain,” Loki said, Adam’s apple bobbing with a swallow, head and arms pressing deeper indentations into the plush blankets beneath him. “Do you have nothing better to do?”

“You’re sounding a lot better,” Steve noted. Still low and hoarse, but there were actually tones of the old Loki in there, instead of just a strained whisper.

Steve brought over a fresh bottle, watching the way Loki twitched and breathed faster as he approached. When his eyes went to the offering, Steve wondered if it was just his imagination or if they were bluer than the last time he’d been up.

He rolled over after Steve retreated and reached out for the bottle with hands that still shook, but a grip that seemed a bit more steady. He drew the lip of it to his mouth, eyes clamping shut as he drank.

Steve had thought that response was pain, earlier. Now he wasn’t so sure.

“Why did you refuse to drink anything earlier?”

Loki lowered the bottle but didn’t let go of it. He stared down, his thumb running over the rim of its opening, shoulders curled forward.

“I’m only asking because it seems like it’s helping you now,” Steve said.

“My body has a...particular process when it is near death,” Loki said. He shuddered, lips parting as his eyes fluttered closed again. “To prevent my own expiration, the majority of its functions...stop.”

“So abstaining was to facilitate that,” Steve said. “I was wondering if you were trying to kill yourself.”

A soft breath of a laugh. “If only it were that simple,” he said, taking another drink. This time a low humming noise followed his swallow, and when he opened his eyes, they came to rest on Steve and stayed there. “We are underground.”

Steve wasn’t sure how Loki could tell that. “We’re in my friend Bucky’s house. This is his basement.”

Loki’s eyes looked Steve up and down, considering. His shaking was getting more pronounced. “Your world, then...it still stands.”

Steve stiffened in interest. “Is there a threat you think we should know about?”

Loki laughed again, with a slash of a grin and eyes that took on a bright sheen. He was losing his grip on the bottle. “I beg your pardon,” he said, and his voice trembled just as much as his body. “I believe I am about to faint.”

Steve was up and rushing forward, catching Loki as he slumped back. His palm braced between bony shoulder blades and Loki convulsed against his hand like he’d been shocked.

“Ah,” Loki gasped, eyes wide, hands clawing at the blankets as his chest heaved. “You-”

He went limp against Steve, who held him for a moment in confusion at the change before he carefully laid him the rest of the way down. Loki’s head lolled to the side. His cheeks were wet, which at least meant he had enough moisture to produce tears.

Steve double checked Loki’s back for injuries, but though he was still distressingly thin, it didn’t look like there was anything new from Steve’s interception of his fall.

He carefully arranged Loki’s limbs on the blankets, and picked up the used bottle to take it upstairs and replace it.

Steve told Bucky what had happened over dinner.

“You sure he wasn’t talking about Thanos?”

Steve paused. He glanced towards the open bathroom door, where he could see Loki resting. “No, actually.”

Loki had been missing. Steve hadn’t considered that he might not be aware of what had happened between the time the Asgardians had been attacked on their way to Earth and now. It made some of his previous confusion make a little more sense.

When he turned back Bucky was looking that way, too. “He was trying to get information out of you.”

Steve gave Bucky a look. “You’re saying that like I shouldn’t talk to him.”

Bucky shrugged. “You can pick up a half-dead squirrel, that doesn’t mean you should be surprised when all it does when it gets better is try to bite the shit out of you.”

Steve raised his eyebrows in interest. “Are you speaking from experience?”

Bucky shook his head, looking mildly disgruntled. “Still screams at me every damn day.”

“Maybe that’s just how it shows affection,” Steve teased.

Bucky sent him a flat look. “We should figure out where he came from. Just to be sure he isn’t talking about something else.”

Steve shook his head, giving his own sigh as he thought about how fast Loki had deteriorated during their interaction. “That might be a better conversation for when he’s able to stay awake longer than fifteen minutes at a time.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed and he looked like he was about to argue. Instead, he shook his head, poking at his food. “Not sure why I’m surprised.”

Steve jerked his head up, frowning. “Surprised about what?”

“Nothing,” Bucky said, but it was clearly something. “Maybe just wear a thick pair of gloves when you handle him. Just in case.”

Steve finished up the last of the dishes and set them in the rack to dry. The house was finally starting to cool down after another scorching day, but it wasn’t enough for him to consider putting on any more layers. After the serum, he’d always run warm.

He heard Bucky’s voice drifting up from the basement - sounded like his avoiding-Loki streak had ended. Steve approached but he didn’t go down, just lingered at the top to listen.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” he heard Bucky say, voice hard.

Whatever Loki’s response was, it was too weak to carry to the top of the stairs.

Bucky’s answer was flat. “Don’t give me a reason, and it won’t be a problem.”

Another pause while Loki talked. This time Steve caught a hint of the tone - not exactly friendly, but it sounded a lot less guarded than when he’d been trying to analyze Steve’s motives.

“Not as short as you think,” Bucky said.

This time when Loki spoke, Bucky stayed quiet for a long moment. “No. Why the hell would it?”

Bucky came up a few minutes later while Steve was wiping down the counters. “He woke up but he’s out again,” he announced.

“I heard some of it,” Steve admitted, and saw the corners of Bucky’s eyes tighten.

The fridge door opened, glass clinking as Bucky pulled out a couple bottles of beer. “He was trying to gauge my threat level.”

He’d done that with Steve, too. Steve took the offered beer, and got a flash of the calm between battles, a dimly lit bar and the smell of cigarettes and the clamoring voices of drunk soldiers. “You should have told him about the squirrel.”

Bucky gave a humorless smile that was fast to fade. He leaned his shoulder against the fridge, snapping the cap off of his bottle with a twist of metal fingers, taking a quick swig. “I don’t think it’s good for me to be down there with him.”

“It didn’t sound that bad,” Steve said. “He’s still confused. If Thor was right, he’ll come around.”

Bucky downed another few swallows. “Trying to gauge my threat level wasn’t all he was doing.”

Steve frowned, concerned. “Was he threatening you?”

“Maybe.” Bucky slowly shook his head, pressing his lips together. “I don’t know. If he was it was in a really fucked up roundabout way.” Bucky looked - well, he was quiet enough to be mostly unreadable a lot of the time, but Steve had gotten the hang of seeing the storms in his eyes, the guilt that came and went like lightning strikes.

He tried to sound reassuring. “You know, I’m not exactly the expert when it comes to this, either.”

“You don’t need to be the expert,” Bucky said. “You can just be...you. That’s more than enough for most people.” He set the unfinished beer on the counter and turned to walk towards the front door, grabbing a jacket off a nearby rack and shrugging into it.

“Time to water the plants?” Steve asked.

“They’re not gonna do it themselves,” Bucky responded, pulling his hair back and threading it through a tie he’d taken from his pocket. “Plus I think the damn aphids are back.”

Steve folded his arms, his own beer still unopened. “I’m pretty sure Tony had some kind of automated system in place for everything on his properties.”

“I’m not asking for any more handouts from Stark,” Bucky said, voice tight as he opened the front door, letting the fresh air rush in. “And I wouldn’t want it, anyway.”

The door shut. Steve walked to the window beside it and pulled the curtain aside to watch as Bucky pulled a hose from its reel and walked towards the garden fence, his metal hand glinting orange in the sunset. As he watered he kept his arm outstretched with the nozzle clutched in his palm, as if he was ready at any moment to bring his other hand up to it in a modified weaver stance.

Steve let the curtain fall closed, frowning. When he went back downstairs Loki was positioned with his head towards the bathroom door, on his side with both arms outstretched in front of him like he’d been reaching for something.

If Steve had been younger, he might have had bigger misgivings about the situation.

He grabbed the card table from the rec room and pulled it until it sat just outside the bathroom door. He set his beer and sketchbook on its surface, already starting to plot out a comic in his head about a soldier battling against giant aphids.

Chapter Text

It was a beautiful day outside.

The scorching temperatures of the last couple of weeks had finally given way to something a bit less necessitating the complete barricading of the house to prevent any additional heat from rushing in. That meant the windows could actually be left open to let the breeze enter without risking suffocating everyone inside.

That was good. Because Bucky figured he wasn’t going to get the chance to go outside again for at least a few hours. Not with Captain America sitting across from him, nursing a glass of water, his shield propped up against the leg of the table, digesting both a mint fruit salad and Bucky’s blunt admission about the fact that there was an injured and possibly violent former Earth invader staying in his basement bathroom.

Sam took a slow drink, dark eyes locked onto Bucky’s face. “Most people just go out and adopt a dog.”

Bucky lifted his shoulders in a brief shrug. “I figured he’d be better at keeping the raccoons away.”

“Oh, we’re joking about this.” Sam folded his arms over his chest, leaning back in his seat. “This is a joking situation.”

“It has to be, at this point,” Bucky said, slowly twirling his fork in his hand. “I tried moving out into the middle of nowhere twice to step out of it. The aliens just seem to keep showing up.”

Sam sighed, eyes going to the silverware still dancing about in Bucky’s grip. “At least get some better material,” he said. He reached for another sip of water, though Bucky thought it was mostly because he needed an excuse to take another moment to think. “So he fell out of the sky.”

“No.” After the injuries that had developed any time Loki fell so much as a couple of feet, that Bucky was at least sure of. An actual crash into the ground from any kind of height would have...well, he wasn’t sure if it would have killed Loki, but he didn’t like imagining what the end result would have been.

“No?” Sam raised his eyebrows. “You’re saying he didn’t walk in, and he didn’t fall, and he wasn’t carried in...but somehow he’s here.”

“It’s a work in progress figuring it out,” Bucky admitted. “Steve said he’s got magic. Like Wanda and Thor and Strange, but different.”

“So it was Steve’s idea to bring him in,” Sam said, sounding unsurprised.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “You think I would have decided to play nurse to someone with that kind of history?”

“Good point. You do seem to prefer to be on the other side of those types of arrangements.”

Bucky stared at Sam in exasperation, finally dropping the fork back down onto his plate with an audible clank. “I was in hiding.”

A teasing glint entered Sam’s eyes. “Right. Playing hard to get.”

Instead of answering, Bucky rolled his eyes and reached over and took their dishes, setting them in the sink and giving them a quick rinse off. Somewhere outside, he could hear a song sparrow throatily send out a series of bright trills.

When he turned back to Sam he was stretching in his seat, hands hooked together overhead and eyes on the basement door. “I guess that’s my cue to go down and take a look at the potential supervillain.”

He dropped his arms and rolled his neck, then reached for his shield. He wasn’t wearing anything but a short sleeved shirt and jeans, but the way he stood with the confidence of someone wearing full body armor made Bucky think he’d gotten way more faith in his shield-using capabilities since they’d practiced.

“He probably won’t be awake,” Bucky said, letting Sam take the lead as they walked down the basement stairs. “He spends about ninety nine percent of his time unconscious. Steve thinks it’s to do with his healing process.”

“I can’t say I’m going to be disappointed about that,” Sam said. “I was already thinking he was going to need to take a number if he wanted to join all the other assholes of the week.”

Steve was already up when they reached the floor level, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe so he could keep his eyes on Loki and still watch Sam and Bucky as they came down at the same time. Not drawing for once, but he was still holding his sketchbook between his arm and torso.

“Sam,” Steve greeted with a smile. “Sorry I missed lunch.”

“Yeah, I thought it was weird - but then Barnes explained, and it just got whole hell of a lot weirder.”

Steve moved aside, and Sam went in through the doorway, coming to an immediate stop as he saw Loki for the first time. Back in the main part of the basement, Bucky moved himself so he could see through the gaps between them and towards what Sam was looking at - Loki, curled up on a thick pile of blankets, legs and arms pulled in close like he was trying to make himself small or conserve heat.

Sam didn’t speak for a long moment, brow drawn down as he took in the thin limbs, and the fading marks on Loki’s skin, and the way that even in sleep he breathed like every inhale was a fight he could lose at any moment.

“Okay,” he finally said, mouth set in a grim line. “I can see why you’d bring him in.”

“This is actually a lot better than he looked last week,” Steve said.

Sam looked aghast, finally breaking his gaze away. “He looked worse than this?”

Steve pulled his sketchbook out from beneath his arm, flipping through it to show some of the gruesome drawings he’d done of Loki’s initial condition. Sam exhaled heavily and swore under his breath.

“So you’re looking at an extended physical rehabilitation process,” Sam said. He turned his head to look at Bucky. “And you think the best place for it is your basement bathroom.”

Bucky didn’t like that Sam was still giving him some of the credit for bringing Loki in. But saying something like if it were up to me, he’d be fertilizing the snap peas wasn’t going to go over well.

All he said was, “What hospital do you want to be unlucky enough to take him?”

“First choice? One on the other side of the world in Norway.”

“We did think of that,” Steve said. “But he’s not going to make it through any kind of transport without getting injured.”

Sam looked to Bucky, again like he was asking for clarification.

Bucky shrugged. “Steve’s been able to handle him, but the only time I touched him his shoulder ended up breaking.”

Sam darted his gaze down to Bucky’s metal hand. “How hard did you grab him?”

Bucky drew the prosthetic back, defensive. “I didn’t even clench down.”

“You sure? Historically when you feel threatened subtlety isn’t exactly your first choice.”

“He didn’t,” Steve said, while Bucky griped, “I’m not feeling threatened.”

Sam gestured towards Loki. “Then how come I got a whole guilt-ridden speech about you knowing the dangers of this guy when he’s just a pile of skin and bones that spontaneously fractures at the lightest touch?”

Okay - it did sound a little dumb when Sam put it that way.

His face pinched, Bucky shook his head. “I don’t know. He’s not gonna stay like that forever.”

“Isn’t that the point of this?” Sam gestured to the crumpled form on the floor. “The sooner he gets better, the sooner his ass is on the back of a fishmonger truck heading to New Asgard.” He looked towards Loki again, the line over his eyes softening. “It does seem like he’s pretty damn comfortable in there.” He turned glanced at Bucky. “Is that your entire closet?”

“It’s too hot for blankets right now anyway,” Bucky said, still stinging.

Sam pointedly gave Bucky’s pants and jacket a once over. “Uh-huh.” He looked towards Steve. “So did you actually talk to him about it, or did you decide this was just what you were doing?”

Steve crinkled his brow. “Who, Loki?”

“No, not Loki - the sergeant whose house you commandeered to play Asgardian doctor simulator.”

“It’s fine,” Bucky said, an odd sharpness jolting through his insides. When Sam met his eyes, he held his gaze steadily. “I wouldn’t want him trying to deal with it on his own.”

A low moan broke into the room, drawing all of their attention. Loki was waking up.

Steve instantly moved further inside the bathroom, while Bucky hung back. Sam stayed where he was, frowning as he watched Loki’s breathing change and his limbs start to move.

The way he came back to consciousness now was at least easier to watch. He curled tighter into himself for a moment, before his eyes opened and he stared at the bare wall across from him in something like resignation. Then his gaze flicked towards Steve, and he froze; the return of his ability to think beyond panic didn’t mean he didn’t recognize his own vulnerability.

When he looked beyond Steve, to Sam and Bucky, his expression and posture went even more wary.

“Loki,” Steve said, and Loki gave a rapid blink of a flinch. “This is Sam. He’s a friend.”

That was a very basic description, Bucky thought, even as Loki drifted his eyes towards the shield that Sam was holding loosely in his hand.

“Hi,” Sam said, sounding only slightly awkward. “I heard you made quite the entrance.”

Loki looked like he would prefer to sink through the floor than have a conversation. He swallowed roughly, hands curling. “Are you...here to take me?”

Sam frowned at the hoarse question, the dullness to the words, and looked back at Bucky again like he was thinking about blaming him for that reaction.

The lines of his face smoothed out as he looked back to Loki. “Is there somewhere you want to go?”

Loki looked taken aback by the question, his fingers curling into the blankets as he started to fight to push himself up. “What do you want?”

His breathing was becoming even more of an audible struggle. Steve took a half-step forward like he wanted to help him, but a cornered look from Loki stopped him from coming closer.

Meanwhile, what lingering remnants of tension Sam’d had as Loki had woken up seemed to have faded completely. When Loki finally managed to prop himself up against the wall to stay somewhat upright, Sam deliberately set the shield aside. Loki’s eyes tracked it as it was placed on the floor, back curled like he was ready to prostrate himself back down at any moment.

“Mostly I’m here to make dinner for my culinarily-challenged friends here,” Sam said, slowly straightening back up. Bucky gave him a look at being lumped in with Steve. “Barnes’s got a whole lot of tomatoes that are going to go to waste if I don’t step in.”

Loki frowned, darting his gaze between all three of them, still clearly confused and now squinting like he had a headache. Cautiously, on weak limbs, he pulled himself the rest of the way into a sitting position, still using the wall for the majority of his balance.

He shook some of the tangled, scraggly hair back, staring at Sam with eyes that looked too large on his thin face. “But you know who I am,” he eventually said.

“Kind of hard not to,” Sam responded. “And your brother might have mentioned you once or twice.”

Loki’s face shuttered like a door being slammed. His gaze lowered, and his body curved forward.

One of the more dramatic reactions that Bucky didn’t quite get, and neither he or Steve had figured out just yet.

“He’s probably gonna be over the moon when he realizes you’re still alive,” Sam said, still talking like Loki hadn’t just given the response of someone who’d been gut-punched.

There wasn’t a positive acknowledgment to that; Loki lowered his head even further, face creasing. He brought up bony fingers to clench into his hair with a soft, desolate sound.

It was bad enough that Sam was forced to comment on it. “Was it something I said?”

Loki didn’t respond; a shudder ran through him. Bucky would bet good money that the tears were going to make another appearance in the next few seconds.

“Loki,” Steve was saying, and Loki cringed away without looking at him, shoulders tight.

“Any time we mention Thor, he acts like that,” Bucky said lowly to Sam while Steve kept trying to break Loki out of it. He really wished he could just retreat back to the garden.

“So that’s a no on sending any space telegrams,” Sam said.

Bucky scrunched his forehead. “Is that a thing?”

Steve had stopped trying to actively engage with Loki and was just staring at him in frustration and concern.

“Maybe give him some space, Steve,” Sam said.

Steve looked at him, then nodded, taking a few steps back. A small drop rolled down Loki’s nose and dropped onto the blanket beneath him, darkening its surface. He was gasping, shuddering, like he was trying to muffle any sounds he made so they wouldn’t hear that he was crying.

Sam moved forward just a few inches. “Look, I know who you are, but I’m not going to pretend that I know you. Your brother’s not on Earth right now, so if what you’re worried about right now is him coming down to beat your ass, you can rest easy knowing it’s probably going to be months if not years before he comes back to visit our planet.”

Loki went still, chest shaking with a few more deep inhales. He dropped his hands, and the expression of loss didn’t leave him so much as transform into a deeper scowl. He looked up at Sam with reddened and watery eyes.

Bucky stood at attention, shocked at the recovery.

Loki’s voice sounded clogged from his own weeping. “You are...speaking of Thor as if he was here recently.”

“He hasn’t been here for a few months,” Sam said, and Loki watched his face carefully, avidly. “He headed out on a ship to the farthest reaches to go find himself.”

Loki’s eyes went bright, almost feverish. He leaned forward, almost falling in his eagerness, clutching roughly at the blankets to hold himself up. His throat worked, and more tears were slipping down his face, but he ignored them. “He...what?”

“He took off with a few space buddies,” Sam explained, keeping his voice unwaveringly calm.

Loki’s eyes widened and he bared his teeth. “He’s alive?”

Sam jerked, then gave Steve and Bucky some stern looks. “You guys told him his brother was dead?”

“No, we didn’t,” Steve said. “I told him I could get a message out to Thor, and he…” Steve trailed off, looking even more frustrated. “We didn’t know. Loki - if there’s anything you want to ask, you can.”

Loki had lowered his head again, just breathing through the force of his emotions. He didn’t immediately acknowledge Steve, but after a minute, his voice came back out, tremulous and whisper-thin. “Where did my brother go?”

Great first question, Bucky thought in foreboding, just as Steve guiltily answered, “We don’t know.”

Loki closed his eyes, his arms shaking as his hands gripped tighter into the blankets. He didn’t shut down completely even if he looked like he was strongly considering it. “But you saw. Him.”

“He lived on Earth for five years,” Steve said, looking relieved he could at least offer that much.

Loki opened his eyes, staring up at Steve beseechingly. “Thor made it to Earth. After Thanos.”

“Yes,” Steve answered with a nod. “He told us that you didn’t make it.”

Loki let out a startled huff of a breath, staring forward at nothing. “Five years,” he repeated, as if in a daze. “But...Thanos…”

Bucky scowled, feeling on edge. “What about Thanos?”

“He succeeded,” Loki said, shuddering again, and this time when he started he didn’t stop. “He won. He-” He broke off, like he couldn’t take any more of his own words.

“He did,” Sam said. “But not permanently.” He shrugged a shoulder towards Bucky in indication. “You’re looking at two guys that crumbled to dust when he snapped his fingers. We were all brought back.”

“Brought back,” Loki said, like a prayer. “Brought back.”

“Is that what happened to you?” Sam asked.

“No,” Loki said. His face formed the shadow of a grin that it just as soon dropped. He shook his head, looking shell-shocked, arms trembling violently. “No. Not at all.”

Sam got a firsthand experience of seeing Loki black out.

Steve carefully grasped at Loki, maneuvering his body with practiced hands and arranging his limbs so he’d be more comfortable.

Sam slowly picked up his shield, backing up so he was next to Bucky again. “It’s always that fun, huh?”

“You missed the stage where he’d just wake up screaming,” Bucky said, watching Steve check Loki’s pulse like an afterthought.

“He’s holding onto consciousness for longer every day,” Steve said as he straightened, even if his face didn’t match the hope in that statement. “His heart’s getting stronger.”

“So you’re saying it wasn’t just my fantastic people skills that drew him out of his shell,” Sam remarked.

Steve looked towards Bucky. “You were right.”

“Right about what?” Sam asked.

“Loki didn’t know we beat Thanos,” Bucky said. “He acted surprised when Steve told him we hadn’t been overthrown.”

They’d gotten a few answers, and a whole hell of a lot of new questions had slid in to make up for that.

Sam looked back at Loki, considering. “He was definitely talking like someone who was on our side of the war when it all went down.” He looked sidelong at Bucky. “You got any more bedding hidden anywhere?”

Bucky blinked rapidly. “Are you staying?”

Sam shrugged. “Just for a few days, if I don’t get called in for work. Give you an extra set of hands in the kitchen. By which I mean, I’ll be the only hands in the kitchen, unless I need you for the grunt work.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said, full of sarcasm. “Then you can finish the dishes.”

Sam lifted his shield. “And you can go out and harvest me a nice basket of tomatoes and as many peaches as you can get off of your tree.”

“We just ate,” Bucky said flatly.

“What, you want a nap, first?”

Behind Sam, Steve was looking at the floor with a small smirk of amusement.

Bucky sighed, giving them both a look, before he headed up the stairs. He was annoyed out of principle, but really there was nothing he wanted to do more right then than spend some time out in the sun.

Later, holding a trug of copper and wood and using the prosthetic to gently squeeze against the golden-red surface of his next targeted peach, Bucky felt a fresh rush of fond irritation at the thought that Sam had probably known that. He plucked the fruit free, dropped it into the basket, and for the first time in days only distantly recalled the feel of bone crunching beneath his hand.

Chapter Text

His eyes saw only blackness. His ears heard nothing but silence. His body had long since gone numb. Even the pain of his injuries had dimmed.

The panic and despair, however, remained excruciatingly vivid.

He couldn’t scream.

The only thing left to him was a thread. Sometimes faint, sometimes close, but he could always sense it. It was the only stimulus available to him besides his racing, gibbering thoughts, and his desperate and useless gathering of the dregs of his faded magic.

But it was not the only thing for long. At some point, a voice came.

It seemed to rumble all around him where there should have been only endless quiet. In the moments before his mind caught up he wondered if it had finally permanently broken beyond all sense.

But he had enough of his faculties to eventually understand quite clearly what exactly this was, and thus feel the full effect of the dread that it inspired.

“Well, well,” said the voice - familiar, terrifying, and laced with satisfaction. “Still alive. Just as I intended.”

He felt the thread strengthen with the words, brightening like a beacon. The possibility of hope only made his panic worse, because he knew beyond all certainty that this was no herald of mercy.

He tried to follow it, heaving at everything he had to give, every spell he could fight to weave. In the choke of spasming lungs he realized that it would not be enough.

He couldn’t scream.

“I can feel the stone calling to you now. You made quite the impression upon it. But even one of the sources of the universe could not avoid its destiny.”

Another burst to bring him closer, and it felt like his very atoms were breaking with the strain. He almost wished they would.

“Your struggle is pointless. Just as every other struggle that came against me was pointless. You will fade. Lost, and unremembered by those who still live.”

He tried to fight through the roaring ache within him, but he had nothing left. He would have to wait for more magic to regather. But he knew his time was limited and he didn’t - he couldn’t-

“They tried, you know. To bring their armies to bear against mine. Some of them were quite impressive. The true Asgardian, your brother and sovereign that you so gallantly sacrificed yourself to save, even found a formidable weapon with which to face me himself. He might have killed me if he’d aimed for the head. I thought his cry of despair as he failed for the final time was the sweetest music.”

No. No. No.

Please, no.

“I have one last gift to give you, even if you are undeserving of it. I will remove what you seek, and every last trace of it that remains upon me, so that you may at last give in. I hope you find rest. Know that I will be enjoying my own.”

The thread snapped.

He was adrift.

He couldn’t scream.

“Loki’s still out,” Steve announced as he came up from the basement.

“Good, cause you’re due for a break,” Sam said, indicating the fully set dining table and the heaping bowls of pasta, salad, and bread at its center. He didn’t miss Bucky sending the basement door a few looks of agitation as he finished setting the table. “Maybe you guys should look into a baby monitor.”

Bucky gave Sam an exasperated glance as he put down the last of the silverware and took his seat - pointedly with his back to the basement. He’d been exiled from the kitchen for a couple hours after all the prep work had been done, which had been maddening as the scents of everything being made had filled the house and stoked his hunger. Hell if he was waiting any longer.

Sam was a damn good cook.

Bucky liked to think he had a good grasp of making meals - following recipes was easy enough, and he’d been doing it consistently because measuring the ratios of ingredients and the cooking times was almost as soothing as going outside to tend to the garden. Not to mention that getting deliveries to his actual address or going for extended ventures out in public to a restaurant remained all things he really wanted to avoid.

He was a supersoldier with a vibranium arm. He could make the most precise of movements and recall and follow instructions to the letter. He could even improvise when it was needed.

But there was some kind of goddamn trick Sam was able to do where, as soon as Bucky even tried anything the man had cooked, his entire body wanted to shudder with how good it was. Like it wasn’t something that should even be possible.

It almost irritated him. The fact that Sam was well aware of just how good he was didn’t help.

“You know, no one’s stopping you from chewing your food,” Sam remarked less than a minute into dinner.

Bucky paused with his fork in his mouth. At his side, Steve did the exact same thing.

Sam’s lips curled smugly as he watched them both.

Bucky let his utensil clink back into his bowl. “It’s just tomato sauce,” he said, still confused about the way his taste buds were reacting.

“It’s really good, Sam,” Steve said, digging right back in.

“I might have won a contest or two in my day,” Sam said with a shrug. “Superhero gig’s leaving me a little rusty, but fresh ingredients help a lot.”

Bucky belatedly realized that was something of a compliment aimed at him. Hesitantly, he took another bite, and almost cursed out loud when it turned out it was just as good as it had been twenty seconds earlier.

Sam raised his eyebrows. “It’s pasta, Barnes, not a combat scenario. You don’t need to give your all at not giving in to things when they feel good. Just maybe don’t inhale it.”

Bucky gave Sam a dry look, then intentionally overloaded his fork and defiantly took the biggest damned bite he could manage.

Sam stared him down blandly. “I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.”

Bucky chewed and swallowed and tried to keep his expression flat to make it look like he wasn’t carefully focused on not accidentally choking himself to death. By the time he was done with his first serving, Steve and Sam were engaged in small talk about the support group Steve had been running, and he took the opportunity of their distraction to help himself to another two servings. At this rate he was going to end up as big as he’d been while hiding out in Romania, back when he was off HYDRA’s strict feeding regime and trying to keep himself as fit as possible to be ready for when they came for him.

“They’re covering for me until I’m done here,” Steve said.

Sam looked interested. “You still think you’ll be going back?”

“I think so,” Steve said with a nod. “If they’ll have me. They’ve been pretty forgiving whenever I take extended leaves.”

“There’s a lot of people out there that would love to get some personal sage words from Steve Rogers,” Sam said encouragingly. “Also, from what I’ve heard, whenever you did take breaks during those years we were gone it was generally of the world-saving variety.”

Steve’s smile got a little tighter. Bucky didn’t say anything, but he could tell Sam noticed it, too.

“Seems like you’re really working some stuff out,” Sam went on. “You know, you never told me what happened when you time traveled to replace the stones. You were back less than two minutes later, but it seemed like it had been a lot longer for you.”

Steve shrugged, still a little stiff. “I took a little break,” he said, and quirked an eyebrow. “Not to save the world.”

Sam stared at him for a long moment. “Did it make you happy?”

Steve waited a beat. “I think I’m still trying to figure that out,” he admitted.

“That wasn’t a no,” Sam said with a small, positive smile.

“No,” Steve said, the tightness loosening from his face. “I guess it wasn’t.”

Sam looked towards Bucky and the nearly-empty serving bowl, and then did a double take. “Hell, Buck. Did you even leave room for dessert?”

Bucky frowned, still chewing. “There’s dessert?”

After the meal, Bucky was a little too full to be comfortable, but if anyone asked him, he’d stubbornly maintain that it was worth it.

He was feeling a little more equipped to mentally deal with the stress of the recovering alien in his basement. Maybe the fact that he let himself go that far at dinner was a sign that he was starting to relax about the situation.

Maybe. If he didn’t think too hard on it and ruin everything before he was even back down in the basement.

At the sink, Steve was arms deep in a mountain of dishes and cookware and handing them off to Sam to be wiped off and placed in the drying rack. Bucky didn’t even know what half of the gadgets in his kitchen were yet, having moved in with it fully stocked. Every time he thought about going and reading an instruction pamphlet or two, a stirring of guilt would sap his interest. He tended to keep to the most basic appliances.

Sam knew, though, and it almost looked like he’d gone through and used them all in the course of one afternoon. He’d even half-stocked the dishwasher that Bucky never bothered to use.

“There’s enough leftovers to last for a few days,” Sam said, indicating the stack of packed tupperwares on the counter. “And I stocked your chest freezer with a few odds and ends. None of it’s labeled, but as long as you can handle a basic thaw and reheat process I guarantee you’ll be satisfied.” He opened up the fridge and pulled out a bottle filled with a pale opaque liquid. “And this is for your other guest. At this point he needs something with a bit more substance to it.”

“Right,” Bucky said, reaching out to take the bottle. Loki had been too distracted to take anything in on his last break into consciousness, so if he woke up during Bucky’s watch he would have to make sure he didn’t get sidetracked.

“I’m gonna turn in for some shuteye,” Sam said. He shook his head. “You know, I thought today was gonna be a lot more crazy than it actually ended up being. I guess ninety nine percent of the time sleeping wasn’t an exaggeration.” He pointed at Bucky. “Just to let you know, you’re gonna be going blackberry hunting for me for breakfast,” he warned, before heading off to the second guest bedroom.

Bucky called irritably after him. “When do you want to start - two AM?”

Sam shot him a smirk before shutting the door behind him.

Steve was putting the tupperwares with cooled food in the fridge. “You know, I can take this watch if you want,” he said.

“No,” Bucky said, looking down at the bottle in his hand. “I got it.”

Steve watched him for a minute. “This doesn’t have to be your problem, Buck.”

“I know,” Bucky said, knowing this was only coming up at all because Sam had dragged it out into the open earlier that day, and that it wasn’t at all as simple as Steve was making it seem. “But it’s the best plan. Sam’s right - he’s just messed up right now. He’ll get better eventually, and then he’ll be gone.”

Steve was staring at Bucky with a furrowed brow, and Bucky felt his heart do a weird skip as he wondered what the hell he’d just said to earn that look.

“I’m gonna head down,” he announced, feeling a little like a coward. He waved the bottle in his hand in indication. “Get this put away before I’m tempted to try it and end up drinking the whole damn thing myself.”

He headed back to the basement, pausing midway down the stairs and exhaling heavily to collect himself. Then he looked up, stretching his senses. Sometimes when Loki was about to wake up, the hairs on the back of Bucky’s neck went stiff and threatened to send a shiver down his back. It had gotten better the more lucid Loki’d become, had been almost nonexistent by the time Sam had showed up. But Bucky still instinctively searched for it.

Whenever it happened it almost felt like a ghost was in the basement with him, trying to push him back up the stairs, telling him he was unwanted.

He felt it the strongest in his prosthetic - like a joint that ached before the rain. He wasn’t sure if he would have been able to separate from his normal tension if he didn’t have state of the art Wakandan technology attached to his body. If Steve had felt anything like it himself, he hadn’t mentioned it. But if Steve had felt it, he probably just would have powered through it.

It wasn’t there, now, so Bucky took that as a good sign and wandered over to the mini fridge that sat at the wall of the rec room, storing the smoothie Sam had made.

He peered in at Loki only after that. He was asleep, still with those raw breaths shaking his chest. He’d moved out of the position Steve had placed him, and was now back to curling up in the center of the blankets. His hair was becoming a worsening snarled mess as the days progressed, even though he’d barely moved in all that time.

Bucky retreated back to the exercise bench and tied his own hair up before he started a workout, trying to keep his good mood and not think too hard on the conversation he and Loki’d had the last time they were alone together.

Don’t give me a reason, and it won’t be a problem.

And what would constitute a reason, Loki had said testingly, like a challenge. I have only your word, belied by your actions. How short is your fuse?

Not as short as you think, Bucky had responded, even if he’d felt a little like something inside of him was vibrating the longer Loki had made eye contact. He hadn’t been able to completely discount it from being an external influence.

He managed to just keep his thoughts rotating around that without going any deeper, but it was still enough he clenched his teeth and set down the weights with a little too much intensity once he was done. He peered over at the bathroom, checking that Loki hadn’t stirred at the noise. He hadn’t, even if it looked like he was starting to curl up even tighter than he’d been earlier.

It was quiet upstairs, too. Sam and Steve had probably gone to bed.

Bucky just rested on the bench for a while, sitting in the silence, chasing the fading edges of the peace that had settled over him earlier in the day in an attempt to make them hang around longer.

It worked, for a little while.

Until he felt that tingle start up in his arm. Breathing out, he looked towards Loki, and saw that he was still unmoving. But there was definitely…something, wafting through the air, coming from the bathroom.

It wasn’t peaceful like the last couple of times he’d come back to consciousness. It was that tingle of pressure, like a ring in his ears he couldn’t hear if he focused too hard on it.

Could Loki tell that Bucky was the only one down there with him, even unconscious? Or was it just a coincidence?

Maybe Sam was right and he was just being overly paranoid.

He got up from the exercise bench, forcing himself to go towards that feeling. Loki was still down on the floor but his brow was beginning to get an unhappy cast. He was being slow about it this time, but Bucky was pretty sure he was about to wake up.

He backed away and moved to the mini fridge to grab the smoothie, gearing himself up for the interaction.

And that was when the basement walls started shaking.

Endless dark. Only endless dark.

But then - the thread.

It came back.

A call of light he could barely remember. It had been there once. Or had it?

He fell from consciousness, again and again and again, but each time he woke it was still there.

And when it faded - disappeared from existence - it had the mercy to remain in the faintest of traces. Not the beacon, but the fingerprints of its power. It was cast among several sources, all originating from a single direction.

He couldn’t scream. He couldn’t think. Still he fought, with the wretched spasming instinct of the eternally dying. He clawed himself into consciousness and he wrenched at the power within himself until there was nearly nothing left, and even then he kept straining and pulling because what more did he have to lose.

“What the fuck?”

Bucky’s voice was swallowed completely by the rumbling roar of the basement walls.

It wasn’t just a gentle ghost but a full blown violent poltergeist, shattering the bathroom mirror and throwing back anything that wasn’t pinned down - the mini fridge, the card table, his weights. Bucky barely leapt in time to avoid getting slammed with the exercise bench, staring in absolute bafflement as it embedded itself in the wall, every muscle poised as an invisible cyclone moved around him.

The basement door crashed open, and Bucky would have thought that was another reaction to whatever was happening but then Sam was there, at his side, lifting the shield and bracing it above them just as all of the bulbs in the basement exploded simultaneously, casting it into darkness.

The house stopped shaking immediately. The quiet was all the more dramatic from the sudden shut off of the noise.

Bucky panted, still in fight or flight mode, waiting tensely for it to start up again. “What the hell was that?”

“Kind of hoped you would tell me,” Sam said, just as tense. Bucky felt rather than saw as he brought the shield down in front of himself.

Bucky could hear Sam slowly enter the bathroom, the shield scraping away broken glass. A beam of light appeared suddenly - he had turned on the flashlight function of his phone. When it went to the pile of blankets on the floor, Bucky’s lungs seized as he saw that they were completely empty. An indentation at their center was the only sign left of the body that had been resting there.

He cursed himself for letting his guard down, turning to the main basement even though the dark made it almost impossible to see. “Where the hell did he go?”

In answer, the screams started up, loud and shrill. They were coming down from the main part of the house, originating in the direction of the guest bedrooms.

“Steve,” Bucky and Sam said at the same time, and then they both bolted for the stairs.

Chapter Text

Steve hadn’t been asleep yet when it happened, which meant that he was fully awake and present for the entire sequence of events as everything unfolded.

First, there was the vague and distant rumble, faint but strange enough to bring a furrow to his brow. Then the bed beneath him began to rock in a gentle but insistent rhythm. Earthquake, was his next thought - but the tremors kept worsening, swelling until his Wakandan arm shields fell over from where they’d been propped up on the dresser across the room.

He sat up at that point, instincts starting to kick in, when two things happened at once: the lightbulb on the far wall burst apart in a sharp crash that sent glass stinging across his skin, and in the bright flash that came before the complete dark he saw Loki appear out of thin air next to him on the bed.

Then Loki’s entire body jerked in a sharp spasm, and he started screaming.

It was shrill in Steve’s ears, the increased volume a testament to how badly damaged Loki’s larynx had been the last time he’d cried out.

Steve instinctively reached out blindly and came in contact with a bony shoulder. At the touch, Loki jolted, his voice cutting off into a gasp-whimper as his body drew taut. A chilled and trembling hand came up and clutched against Steve’s wrist, squeezing down with a startling frailness.

“Loki,” Steve said, and felt the flinch beneath his palm. Loki dropped his hand, body shifting like he was trying his hardest to sink into the bed, and Steve reluctantly moved his hand off him. “Are you hurt? What’s happening?”

The noise that followed those questions was wordless, low, and full of despair. It sent an ache swirling in Steve’s gut. The house itself had gone still, but the shaking that came from Loki was violent enough to carry through the mattress between them.

Steve looked around - or tried to. The only concrete information Loki had given them about what would help him had been about wanting the light, and the entire room had been cast into blackness. Steve couldn’t even make out the silhouette of his body, but he could clearly hear Loki taking in air in rough spurts in the dark. Panicking.

He moved to his knees, reaching towards the nightstand to grope for his phone. His hand only met a smooth, empty surface. He gave an inward curse as he realized it must have fallen.

He was about to risk treading on broken glass to look for it on the ground when rapid footsteps approached and the bedroom door was all but slammed open.

Sam and Bucky rushed in - the hallway beyond was dark, but the light of Sam’s phone was on and beaming enough to brighten a good portion of the guest room.

“Shit,” Bucky said, eyes glued to the scene - Steve, face decorated with a few reddened cuts, with Loki at his side contorted into a tangle of thin, trembling limbs. “What the fuck happened?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said, looking down at Loki, who was clutching at fistfuls of the sheets beneath him. “He just appeared.”

Bucky flicked his eyes to Steve’s face. “In your bed?”

Steve straightened, peering back into the hallway. “Is every light in the house out?”

“As far as we can tell,” Sam said, slowly lowering his shield. “Not everything was destroyed, but the basement’s pretty trashed and the power’s off. I got this, though.” Sam waved the phone in indication. “Barnes’s cell is toast. What’s yours looking like?”

Steve indicated the nightstand, and with the help of Sam angling the light, carefully found his phone had been thrown across the room and was laying cracked open on the floor.

“Well, good thing I’m the only person with places to be,” Sam said grimly. “Although I’m kind of wishing I’d taken the time to put on shoes before rushing in and saving Barnes from nothing.”

“My hero,” Bucky said absently.

Loki had gone quieter now that Steve wasn’t touching him, but he was blinking rapidly and his shivering hadn’t gotten any less pronounced. He’d been staring up into the light of Sam’s phone since it had arrived, his eyes visibly watering. When Sam got closer Loki started to move his arms like he was going to try to crawl towards it.

“Don’t let him fall,” Bucky blurted, then clamped his lips shut like he hadn’t meant to say that.

Steve tried to put the slightest pressure he could manage in keeping Loki where he was, but Loki’s eyes immediately rounded and his gasps took on a more panicked edge.

“Sam,” Steve said, trying to balance between keeping Loki in place without actively restraining him. “Bring the light over.”

Sam did, nervously checking for shards of broken glass. Loki watched him approach with a wild, riveted gaze. When the phone got close enough Loki bared his teeth and darted out his hand to grab at it - Sam let it go immediately like he’d been burned. Bucky surged forward at the action with clenched fists, but Sam quickly held his arm out to keep him back.

“Okay,” Sam said, backing off, and gently pushing Bucky to back off with him. “I guess you’re borrowing that.”

Loki only shuddered in response, holding the phone with the light pointed upwards, breaths coming stiltedly - though now it seemed like he was making the effort to calm himself. Steve cautiously leaned back, giving him a bit more space and time to regain his composure.

Bucky exhaled unhappily and looked around the room, even though most of it was still in shadow. “What the hell was up in here that you were looking for?”

Loki dragged his eyes up from the light and stared at Bucky with a distant horror on his face. His skin was still twitching, and he didn’t look like he was entirely lucid just yet.

“You jumped for a reason,” Bucky insisted, voice tight, almost accusing. “Why did you show up in my garden? What’s in my house that you want?”

A noise came from Loki, harsh and breathless, an awful cross between a laugh and a sob. It disappeared quickly, and was followed by a rough and audible swallow.

“Captain,” Loki said after a moment, the word tremulous and hoarse.

Steve straightened, beyond ready to be pointed in the right direction of what he could do to help. “What is it?”

Tremors wracked Loki; the next word came like it was being forced from his throat. “Thanos.”

Steve waited for more, but Loki didn’t seem to be able to bring himself to say anything else. “What about him?”

Loki’s breaths were escalating again. “What…was his fate?”

There was a desperation in Loki’s voice that made Steve think that giving a simpler answer to that question would be the better choice. “He’s dead.”

Loki’s fingers tightened over Sam’s phone, careful to not block any light. “How?”

“Depends on which one you’re asking about,” Bucky muttered under his breath.

Steve gave Bucky a look. “It’s a little complicated,” he said.

Loki clenched his teeth. “How?”

Steve sighed; it looked like the simple answer hadn’t been the best idea after all. “After he got all the Infinity Stones and snapped his fingers, he retreated to an isolated planet. We found him alone. He’d destroyed the stones so we wouldn’t be able to use them ourselves. Thor beheaded him.”

Steve could still remember the echo of that failure, and the tightness in his throat on the ride back to Earth, along with the numbness that had followed. The end of a war that they’d thought they’d been prepared to fight.

Loki blinked rapidly, brow crinkling like he was taking the time to absorb the information. “And...then?”

Then…the miracles, one after another, which Steve found a lot easier to recount. “We traveled in time to get the stones to bring everyone back. A past version of Thanos managed to follow us into the future. We beat him by using the stones.”

“He’s erased from existence,” Sam added for emphasis. “Permanently.”

“And Thor lives,” Loki said, that edge to his voice still sharp.

“Thor’s alive,” Steve confirmed. “Just not on Earth.”

Loki’s face crumpled and he took a huge, gulping breath, like a drowning man who’d just reached air. “Th-thank you,” he said, chest hitching with sobbing breaths. “I - thank you.”

He turned his face partially into the bedspread, keeping one eye on the light. His breathing was finally beginning to transition from near-hyperventilation back to the baseline ragged quality that normally plagued it.

They watched him as he recovered. Bucky, especially, stared hard at Loki, but he didn’t demand any answers to his earlier questions. Instead, he moved forward until he was next to Sam, then pressed a bottle he’d been holding into his hand.

“I’m gonna go try to figure out the power,” Bucky announced, and then left.

Sam sighed, eyes going to Loki. “Looks like you’re coming down off of whatever that was,” he observed. “So what are the odds we just happened to have a decent magnitude earthquake at the exact same time you moved yourself up here?” He looked between Loki and Steve like he was waiting for an answer, then frowned more deeply when none came. “Didn’t think so.”

Loki, still holding Sam’s phone like it was a lifeline, twitched his eyebrows in confusion. “Power,” he said questioningly, repeating the last word to Bucky’s sentence.

“That was a hell of a panic attack,” Sam explained. “It felt like you were trying to take the entire house down. Might of caused a surge, or - whatever else whatever you do can cause.”

Loki blinked, his expression starting to go blank. While Steve didn’t like that, it meant that Loki was back with them enough that he could manage to project that mask.

“It’s all right,” Steve said, and the corner of Loki’s eye twitched. “It was an accident, right?”

Though Bucky had spoken like he’d thought Loki had known exactly what he was doing, Steve thought otherwise. He really didn’t think Loki would intentionally inflict that kind of suffering on himself.

Loki blinked again, and didn’t answer. It looked like he was trying to lock down hard in the aftermath of his emotions.

“Do you mind if I come forward?” Sam asked. He indicated the bottle, his hands out where Loki could see them. “I’d like to give this to you.”

Loki changed the angle of the light, directing it slightly towards Sam. “What is it?” Despite his flat gaze, his voice still trembled at the edges.

“A smoothie,” Sam said, giving the bottle a brief shake in indication. “Peaches, banana, coconut water, and yogurt. Nothing dangerous.”

Loki’s wasted throat worked. He looked between the drink and Sam’s face. He’d been, Steve noticed, very careful about not looking back at him at all since he’d appeared on the bed.

“I can hold the phone for you if you want to take it,” Steve offered.

Loki immediately sucked in a breath and pulled the phone in closer to his chest, casting a stretched shadow of his profile looming over them on the wall. “I am afraid I must...decline,” he grated out.

“Okay,” Sam said, genuinely sounding like he thought that was a totally acceptable answer. “But you’re really missing out. Barnes had a strict fertilizer schedule for the tree that busted out these peaches. Got a soil meter and everything.”

Loki just stared at Sam through narrowed eyes, nostrils flaring as he sucked in air. The sound of his breathing almost covered up the gurgle that came from his stomach.

“You must be thirsty,” Steve said. “You missed taking anything in when you were awake earlier.”

Loki made a sharp sound in response, brittle and sardonic. “I spent years dying of thirst,” he said, with a fair amount of bitterness. “If I am even capable of dying from it at all.”

Something in Loki’s gaze had begun to thaw, but for whatever reason, he still couldn’t bring himself to accept the help. He didn’t want to risk being in the dark, and he didn’t trust Steve to keep the light on him.

Steve wasn’t sure how to convince him.

Luckily, a clicking noise came at that point, and then the hallway light turned on. Loki jerked, his head swiveling towards it, mouth parting as he stared.

“Looks like Barnes got things up and running,” Sam said, sounding as relieved as Steve felt.

“We can move into the living room,” Steve said to Loki. “It’ll be brighter in there.”

Loki’s eyes fluttered, not quite shutting. Then, limbs unsteady, he started to try to press himself up, carefully angling the phone to keep its light on his face. When Steve went to help he let him, if reluctantly, mouth clamping as his breath caught. He managed to get himself into a sitting position that way, and stared longingly at the beams of light in the hallway.

Steve got one of Loki’s arms around his shoulders. Sam used his shield to hastily brush aside some of the glass fragments on the floor, then took the other side. He let Loki keep a hold on his phone while they moved him, even if it wasn’t doing much to help illuminate where it was positioned now.

They walked slowly, supporting Loki as carefully as they could. He still winced and made a few soft grunting noises on the way to the couch, then grimaced when he was finally lowered onto the cushions, propped up against the back. He panted like he’d just run a marathon instead of taking a gentle assisted walk down a hallway.

Loki was calming down, though. Calming down or just reaching the end limits of his energy. His head was starting to dip back, and he pressed his tongue against chapped lips, eyes half-lidded.

Steve grimly noted the bruises forming along the insides of Loki’s arms where most of his weight had pressed on them. More work for his body to recover from.

“You’ve got some new injuries,” Steve pointed out. “Anything serious?”

Loki stared at Steve without responding for several seconds, brow knitting together. Eventually, he gave a slight shake of his head. Now that he was partially upright it made it even more obvious just how much he was swimming in Bucky’s clothes.

“Here,” Sam said, twisting the cap off the bottle and holding it out. “Trade you for my phone back.”

Loki stared wearily at the offering, his chin dipping down to his chest. He didn’t take long to agree to the exchange, extending a thin arm with Sam’s phone. He clutched solemnly at the bottle that was handed to him, managing not to drop it even if his arm shook from the weight.

He tentatively brought the bottle to his lips. When he took the first mouthful, the response wasn’t subtle like it had been with the last drink - this time, Loki out and out moaned, his eyes taking on a bright sheen.

Sam was frowning in concern at the response. “Does it hurt that bad to drink?”

“No,” Steve said, that ache beginning to reform in his chest and drop down to his toes. “I don’t think it’s that.”

Loki took a second mouthful, and the first of the tears broke free to run down his cheeks.

I spent years dying of thirst rang in Steve’s head like a terrible echo, raising a sick feeling in his stomach.

Loki stayed engrossed in the bottle, his full concentration on taking slow but steady sips. He didn’t look up again until the front door opened. Bucky entered, cool air wafting in behind him, then came to a stop as he saw them all gathered in the living room, letting the door slowly fall shut.

He locked eyes with Loki. Loki looked back, his own body unmoving but for the strain of his breathing.

“The good news is he’s not trying to kill us,” Sam said into the awkward silence.

Steve took in the difference in the tension that rose between Loki and Bucky with a frown. Eventually, Loki seemed to think drinking held more of a draw than paying any mind to Bucky, and brought the bottle back to his lips again. He was still openly weeping, losing moisture even as he took it in.

A hard line began to form on Bucky’s forehead as he watched.

“Don’t judge,” Sam said, drawing Bucky’s attention. “You looked like you were about to cry earlier after you tried that cobbler.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, finally breaking out of the stillness of his defensive stance as he took a few steps further into the living room. There was a cardboard box under his arm that he shifted into his hand.

“New light bulbs?” Steve asked.

“Yeah,” Bucky confirmed, his eyes going back to Loki. “He hasn’t passed out again yet.”

Loki shuddered, lowering the drink to his lap. His gaze darted to Bucky momentarily, then to Steve and Sam, before he focused back on the half empty bottle with an air of resignation. He didn’t look happy about being surrounded, but he at least wasn’t shaking in terror anymore.

And he was still awake.

Loki licked his lips, his voice coming out low and rough. “I assume you have questions.”

Chapter Text

Loki looked worn and pale against the rustic brown cushions of Bucky’s couch. He probably wanted nothing more than to be left alone to rest and better focus on the smoothie Sam had made for him.

But he was offering answers. And whether he felt compelled because he actually wanted the information out in the open, or he thought he had to present something to pacify them, it took Steve some effort to have restraint and not just dive right into prising the situation apart at the first chance he’d been given.

“You might say that,” he said dryly, raising his eyebrows. “But if you have limited energy, spending it on getting fuel is probably the better way to go at this point.”

“I can devote my attention to both,” Loki said, with a confidence that all but abandoned him in the next few seconds. He shrank back, head bowing as he contemplated the mottled bruises on his forearms. “But I cannot promise an answer to everything.”

“Why not?” Bucky asked - almost demanded. He was watching Loki with a look that could freeze fire.

Loki huffed out a breath, his reddened eyes rising to stare at nothing. “Because it is very likely that I will not want to answer.”

He drank again, his hollow gaze still aimed forward. A single shudder ran through him, then subsided.

Steve considered the situation. He would have thought the energy Loki had expended teleporting into the guest room would have left him too weakened to interact, but if anything, he seemed more alert than he had before - and he was willing to talk to them. His proposition sounded a lot more straightforward than anything he’d said the last time the Avengers had encountered him, too.

Even if, in his current condition, Steve would have been surprised if he’d been able to put much effort into anything more than straightforward.

He looked towards Sam, who shrugged, then Bucky, who scowled, adjusting the box of lightbulbs in his grip. Loki just kept staring into the middle distance, a thrum intermittently running through his thin frame.

Steve guessed there wasn’t much point in refusing when Loki was volunteering.

“What happened when you shifted,” he said, “with the power surge and the electronics breaking - is that something we can expect again?”

Loki’s brow furrowed. He took his time with answering, and avoided direct eye contact. “I do not know,” he eventually said, voice flat. “I did not wake until I was in the dark.”

“So it was all involuntary,” Sam said, pointedly side eyeing Bucky. Bucky stared back for a few seconds, then sighed, finally losing some of the harsh edges to his expression.

“It was not a calculated attack,” Loki said. He sounded like he fully expected them not to believe him.

“It’s all right,” Steve said. “It takes a little more than that to endanger us.” He couldn’t help the humor that seeped into his voice. “You’d know that firsthand.”

Loki didn’t quite relax at the joke. He darted a cautious gaze between the three of them, carefully balancing the smoothie against his thigh. He didn’t say anything else; he was just waiting.

“Let’s go back a little,” Steve said, keeping his voice calm and encouraging. “Thor told us you died.”

“Twice,” Sam added. “Although I wasn’t in this realm of existence to hear about the second time myself.”

Loki picked at his thumb with the fingers of his opposite hand. “That particular event would actually have been the third of such occurrences,” he corrected.

Steve stared in confusion, wracking his brain before he remembered. “You’re talking about before the invasion,” Steve said. “When you fell from Asgard.”

“The first,” Loki confirmed, his brow twitching up. He took a moment to take another drink; his arm was unsteady, and he had to concentrate to level the bottle. He bared his teeth as he dropped his arm back down, giving a harsh exhale of exertion before he continued. “Thor believed I was dead at that point, as well.”

Three times. Which meant they were one perceived death ahead of Steve and Bucky.

Not that Steve wanted the universe to give them a tie.

“So the third time,” Steve said, shouldering past those memories before they could distract him. “You were alive.”

“Yes,” Loki said, his eyes dilating and his daze going distant.

He didn’t volunteer any details. More worryingly, what little color that had come back to his face was quickly seeping out of it.

Steve looked towards Sam, who shook his head minutely, just as at a loss.

It was Bucky who spoke up. “Thanos broke your neck,” he said, drawing sharp looks from them all.

Loki gave a twitch of a blink, then audibly swallowed in discomfort. His voice was barely above a whisper. “Did Thor mention that as well?”

“No,” Bucky said. “It was broken when you showed up in my garden.”

Sam looked mildly disturbed at the exchange. “Barnes, I know it’s hard to remember because we’d been dust for a lot of that time, but that whole thing happened five years ago.”

“The marks were the same size as the Gauntlet,” Bucky insisted.

Sam frowned, tilting his head. “Why would that even be something you would notice?”

Bucky stiffened, the fingers of his metal hand curling against the box he was holding. His response was cagey. “Because that’s what it was.”

Loki’s breaths stuttered in his lungs. “Yes,” he breathed more than said.

Bucky met Loki’s eyes, and Steve got the sense there was some kind of painful understanding passing between them. He wasn’t sure what to think of it. There had been tension between Loki and Bucky for a while, even when Loki had been unconscious. Whatever was happening now seemed different, but it didn’t exactly make Steve feel any better.

“You’re here, now,” he said to Loki, trying to bring him back from that hollow-eyed stare. “You survived.”

A bitter twist contorted Loki’s lips. “My survival was intended. Or, at the very least, viewed as an acceptable outcome.” He wasn’t shutting down, but he still spoke vacantly, like he was holding the words at a distance from himself. “I am quite hard to kill, you see. Thanos had considerable knowledge of this when I was offered an army to retrieve the Tesseract.

It sounded like there was more to that statement. Back in 2012 they hadn’t delved into it, but they hadn’t really known who was pulling Loki’s strings. Or why.

“You had one of the stones,” Bucky said. He sounded more confused than angry. “You could have used it. Why the hell would you give it up?”

For the first time since waking up in the dark, Loki closed his eyes and let them stay that way. He looked like he was clinging to a neutral expression by the frailest thread. “Because he would have killed Thor.”

He didn’t open his eyes again, so he didn’t see their reactions. His body had gone still again, like it had when Bucky had come back inside the house - like prey under the sight of a predator. “I knew that if I offered...Thanos thought himself above trickery and manipulation, but he did precisely what I meant for him to do.” His hands were white-knuckled around the smoothie bottle.

“Thor was rescued,” Steve prompted, and was rewarded with Loki’s eyes blinking back open. “The ship you were on was destroyed, and he was picked up out of space.”

Loki stared at Steve like he was waiting to make sure there wasn’t a trick at the end of that statement. “He was found.”

“By a group of people who called themselves the Guardians of the Galaxy,” Sam said. Something sad sparked in his gaze. “No one found you.”

Loki exhaled shakily, his muscle tension returning. “Why would anyone search for a corpse?”

“You weren’t a corpse,” Steve said, and in his periphery saw Bucky send him a severe look.

“No,” Loki said, voice raw and body thrumming. “But as you’ve observed, I make a convincing likeness. Whether I will it or not.”

Right.

Steve remembered waiting patiently as the minutes stretched for a heartbeat to stir beneath frigid flesh. In the initial examination of Loki’s body in the garden, it hadn’t taken long at all for Steve to feel his pulse. If he’d put his fingers to Loki’s throat at the wrong moment, he might have missed it. If it had taken too long to feel it then, he probably really would have written him off as deceased.

Loki hadn’t been breathing. Even after they’d known he was alive, he hadn’t looked alive.

Steve didn’t bother to dwell on it, just as he didn’t bother to dwell on what would have happened if Loki had ended up anywhere else. He was here. And after what had just happened with his sudden appearance in the guest room, Steve was starting to come around to Bucky’s earlier belief that it hadn’t been simple luck.

“So you made your way to Earth somehow,” Steve said. The lack of Loki’s immediate denial to that statement further cemented the truth of it. “We thought it was a random occurrence.”

Loki didn’t quite smile. “You thought I had come to you purely by accident, by happenstance - out of all beings in the cosmos, because simple fate willed it so.” His voice sounded too tired to be contemptuous. “And here I thought Stark was the most self-centered Avenger.”

Steve watched Loki in interest. “So it was intentional.”

“To a point,” Loki said. “I could not...I could not sense…” He trailed off. The bottle fell out of his hand and thudded against the floor, sending droplets of his smoothie spraying out. “There was nothing,” he finished, voice going faint. “Nothing.”

“Loki,” Steve said, intrigue quickly transitioning to concern.

Loki shook like a dog sloughing off water, blinking. He stared into the living room light and then raised trembling hands into his hair, clenching down.

“Tell me again,” he demanded, voice fraying at the edges. His chest heaved as his breathing picked back up. “Tell me - Thanos-”

“He’s dead,” Steve quickly said.

“You were triumphant over his armies.”

“Every single soldier,” Sam confirmed.

“And Thor,” Loki gasped, still desperate. “What of Thor?”

“He fought with us,” Steve said. Loki’s terror was still going strong, so he added, “We took down Thanos together.”

“Steve lifted his hammer,” Bucky broke in.

That was what finally made Loki freeze, his chest going still like he’d forgotten how to breathe. He restarted quickly, dropping his hands from his hair as he slowly turned his head to stare at Bucky through wide, tear-filled eyes. “What did you say?”

Bucky shrugged. “Steve carried the hammer and was fighting on the field summoning lightning like the God of Thunder.”

Loki turned his eyes upon Steve, expression chock full of a lot of things - but most of all, he just looked shocked. Enough to disrupt some of his considerable anxiety.

He wasn’t panicking anymore.

Unfortunately, not two seconds later, he swayed where he sat. “Oh,” he said, and then his eyes rolled back.

Luckily, he’d been put far enough back against the couch that he just keeled over into an awkward slump on his side against the cushions instead of crashing to the floor.

Sam heaved a deep sigh, turning to Bucky in disapproval. “You thought bragging about Steve’s accomplishments in the Battle for Earth was the right way to take that?”

“He responded, didn’t he?” Bucky shook his head. “God, I hate that name.”

“I think Captain Danvers would agree with you,” Sam said, reaching a hand up to rub wearily at the nape of his own neck. “And I can’t argue it doesn’t make us sound pretty damn egotistical.”

Steve moved forward while they talked, taking the opportunity of Loki’s loss of consciousness to gently check his body more thoroughly for anything of concern. He thought everything looked basically good, until he saw a troubling red patch peeking up from the waistband beneath Loki’s lower back.

“Sam,” he said, interrupting their conversation. “Can you check Loki for me?”

Sam came over, giving the marks his own examination. “Looks like pressure injuries from sitting on the couch,” he said.

Behind them, Bucky pressed his lips together, turning away and stalking off towards the basement with quick steps.

“He’s only been on it for fifteen minutes,” Steve said, unable to help glancing back in the direction Bucky had gone.

“This doesn’t look too good,” Sam said, grimacing as he stretched down the neck of the shirt and found matching patches over Loki’s shoulder blades. “You had the right idea with keeping him moving when he was out. Whatever’s wrong with him, physical pressure is definitely a major concern.”

Steve looked at the bruises on Loki’s arms, which already looked like they were starting to visibly recede at the edges. “Guess we’re lucky he seems to heal fast.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I really don’t want to have to be the one to break the news to Thor that his lost brother miraculously reappeared alive only to give himself a traumatic brain injury because we forgot the crib rails.”

Bucky came back into the living room again, carrying a small mountain of blankets. “Here,” he said, jerking his arms up in indication. “I think I got all the glass out.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You think,” he repeated dubiously.

“I’m not interested in having him bleed out on the hardwood,” Bucky said, throwing a couple of the uppermost blankets over for Sam to catch and gazing at Steve expectantly.

Steve got his arms under Loki, cradling him half-propped up as Sam and Bucky went to work folding the blankets and set them neatly on top of each other on the floor. He kept checking the spots where his forearm was braced for any reddening skin.

“You’re sure you want him camped out on the floor of your living room,” Sam said to Bucky as he straightened back up.

“If he stays on the couch he’ll probably roll off and break his spine,” Bucky said, still crouched as he made some last minute adjustments to smooth down the edges of the folded blankets. “And even if we wanted to, now we know carrying him back down to the basement’s going to rough him up more than he already is. He was probably so fucked up when he first arrived that we didn’t even notice.”

Sam nodded in grim agreement. “Not to mention your basement currently looks like it tried its damndest to get carried to Oz without the rest of the house.”

Steve raised his head, at attention. “What happened to the basement?”

Sam answered. “The same thing that happened in your room, only scaled to the tenth power.”

“It’s fine,” Bucky assured, waving a hand dismissively. “I didn’t buy most of the stuff down there.”

Steve creased his brow. So there’d been more damage. He didn’t like the way Bucky admitted to it, half sounding like he thought the destruction was just his due.

Steve gently got Loki off the couch and onto the pile of blankets, set now so the uppermost one was a solid brown comforter with a yellow and teal floral pattern stretching in a line down one side.

Sam exhaled like they’d just completed a particularly arduous task. “So who wants to take bets on the next time he’ll wake up?”

“Hopefully not before I’m done putting the basement and the guest room back together,” Bucky said. He looked towards Sam. “I don’t have a landline.”

“Yeah, because you tore it out when you moved in,” Sam said, eyebrows raised. “Don’t worry, I’ll set up your replacement phones in the morning. But you’re wearing those Falcon sweatpants of yours all day tomorrow in exchange. It’s a gross oversight and you’ve been slacking on that.”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky said with a sarcastic salute.

“Need any help with the cleanup?” Steve asked.

Bucky shook his head slightly, then seemed to change his mind. “I have some extra lanterns and flashlights in the garage. Might be a good idea to put a half dozen of those around Loki. Won’t help if he freaks out and breaks everything again, but…”

“I’ll get right on it,” Steve said.

“Well, if no one’s gonna bother trying to sleep, I’ll put a pot of coffee on,” Sam said. He pointed at Bucky on his way into the kitchen. “Don’t forget about blackberry duty. Breakfast’s at 8 AM sharp.”

“Can’t wait,” Bucky said, a little too sincere for his usual backtalk. He looked towards Steve, eyes soft, then turned away and went back to the basement.

Steve gave Loki one last look before he headed for the garage, a greater certainty steadily filling him as he rooted around through boxes of supplies. They’d had a direct admission, now, that Loki had put his own life on the line to save Thor’s. A lost soldier of their desperate war, finally found again.

Even if it had turned out that Loki hadn’t come here for any particular reason, he was in need of help. And even if he was extremely reluctant for it, he was looking for help.

Steve was determined to help him.

The world was warm.

Warm, and filled with scents both savory and sweet. Loki could hear low voices, and the distant singing of birds.

He stirred upon now familiar softness, his body singing with aches old and new. Breathing was still a struggle, as it had been when he was a gangly child and Thor would sit upon his chest to pin him down when he’d lost one of their scuffles.

He opened his eyes, resigned to the fact that he was currently just as, if not more, gangly. But he’d had true sustenance for the first time in years, and his body reveled in it. His magic reveled in it, no longer forced to exclusively pull in what limited energies it could manage from his withered body.

And Thor was alive. He remembered that fact with a jolt, feverish, clinging to the truth of it. Thanos had misled him, back when he’d taunted Loki about Thor’s defeat. He had cleverly spoken of Thor’s failure and not his death, but Loki was certain Thanos would have known full well what conclusions Loki would have drawn from such information. To fail in combat against the Mad Titan a second time and still survive would have been unimaginable.

But Thor had survived. And he’d survived to end Thanos’s life himself.

Loki could confirm it again, if he wished. He suspected he often would, until such a day came that he could find his proof in laying eyes upon Thor himself.

He could hear voices drifting over him, speaking quietly. The Captain, and the man who held his shield. It did not sound like the one with the metal arm was with them.

Loki moved his head, wanting to scan his surroundings before he decided on a plan of action, and nearly gasped as his vision was flooded with incredible light.

All thought fled but for one glorious, single realization: it was the sun. Golden rays cast over him in a beam, more radiant than any artificial brightness that could be created. He could see it clearly through a nearby window, set against a pale blue sky.

It stung his eyes to look, but he did not care. His ribs suddenly felt as if they were made of uru, trapping his lungs. He fought to keep breathing, and to keep himself quiet as he stared. The conversation behind him remained soft and did not falter.

Loki found himself glad of their ignorance. It meant that he could give himself fully over to his weeping in peace.

The sun was there. And it was shining.

Chapter Text

Loki was crying again.

Bucky had been on his way out of the house with the last of the trash bags filled with destroyed equipment from the basement when he saw the glint in his periphery. He paused with his grip still on the front door handle, belatedly turning his head to better check.

Loki was on his back, unmoving except for his breaths. He wasn’t making any sound, and his eyes were closed. But his head was angled differently than it had been the last time Bucky had come up, and there was a subtle unevenness to his respirations compared to when he’d been unconscious.

All of those hints were overshadowed by the fact that his hollow cheeks were visibly wet beneath inflamed eyelids. The tear tracks were recent enough that they were shining in the sunlight beaming through the window.

Bucky glanced towards the dining room table. Sam and Steve were sitting together, almost shoulder to shoulder as Sam showed Steve the specs on possible phones that had a mild possibility of withstanding a resurgence of whatever Loki’s powers had done to theirs the night before. Steve was wearing one of Bucky’s henleys, his clothes having been put in the wash that morning. Sam was wearing another of his own t-shirts - he’d packed more than enough for a few nights, just in case he got called away on a mission without notice.

They didn’t seem to have noticed anything off.

Probably because Loki didn’t want anyone to notice.

Bucky looked back at the limp body on the blankets. It was possible that Loki had just gone back to sleep at that point. Bucky didn’t feel any strange feeling in the air around him, and the walls weren’t shaking. Loki was weak, and his last round of consciousness hadn’t been all that long ago.

Still, the signs of anguish were way too recent.

Bucky clenched his jaw and opened the front door, walking around the house towards the storage shed that held the garbage bin. A breeze tickled the hairs on the back of his neck as he opened it. The afternoons were still plenty hot, but it was getting darker earlier every day. He had a few projects he’d been meaning to get to before the fall, including a pile of concrete blocks he’d been intending to put down for the start of a foundation for a greenhouse. Now he was wondering if he’d just go the simpler route of putting some rebar into the ground and curve some PVC piping over the more tender plants during the colder season.

It wasn’t critical that he think about any of those plans this soon, but it made him feel better.

He did a brief visual scan of the property - instinctive, and probably useless. He was pretty sure by this point that the only immediate problem was inside the house.

He went back in, not bothering to look towards the living room as he headed straight for the fridge. The blackberry smoothie Sam had whipped up for Loki was sitting in the door. It was a rich and inviting purple that made Bucky almost want to forget that he’d had plenty of his own breakfast already that morning.

He took the smoothie out. Steve looked up with his eyebrows raised while Sam gave him a half-suspicious look, phone still pressed to his ear. Bucky jerked his head in indication towards the living room. Steve turned his gaze towards the pile of blankets, somehow looking both sad and relieved at the same time. Sam gave a sharp nod of permission, going back to his conversation while Bucky made his way slowly back to Loki.

He watched readily for any tension or quick movements as he rounded the blanket pile, keeping himself within line of sight. He made sure not to step far enough to disrupt the light that was hitting Loki’s face, remembering how he’d screamed in the dark.

Loki didn’t so much as twitch.

Bucky sighed. He set the smoothie down within reach; the base of the container made an audible clack against the hardwood. Then he backed off a few steps.

Loki kept up the charade for a few seconds longer. His eyebrows were the first to break, pulling together in a soft frown, before his eyes fluttered open to look at the drink just inches from his face.

There were still tears swimming in his eyes.

He stared up at Bucky next. Somehow the added signs of awareness didn’t do much to liven the deadness of his expression. He didn’t take any interest in the fact that Bucky was wearing sweat pants covered in multiple winged Sams soaring up and down and around his legs in majestic poses.

He obviously didn’t want Bucky there, so Bucky wordlessly moved back to the kitchen.

Sam had finally finished his call. He looked towards Loki, who was blinking at the ceiling. Steve shifted like he was about to stand up and Bucky raised his hand to signal him back down.

“Not yet,” he said quietly. Loki had been trying his damndest to hide in plain sight and Bucky had blown his cover.

Not to mention, leaving him alone for now would give Bucky the excuse to spend even more time away from that stare. He wondered who Loki would go for first if he went out of his mind and felt truly threatened. He’d thought for one bright and terrible moment that it would have been Steve, the night before. But even though Loki had been out of his mind with panic, Steve had only ended up with a few shallow cuts that were already healed.

Sam set his phone down on the table. “I can’t guarantee any kind of a warranty on the new devices. Not unless you want to donate some Wakandan hardware for the building materials. I didn’t mention what exactly took out the phones. Luckily, Stark didn’t ask. He said he’s having a bad arm day, so it might take a minute.”

Bucky took the gut-punch feeling quietly, even if he couldn’t quite help dropping his eyes as he nodded.

“Buck,” Sam said, matter of fact, “Stark’s happy to help. He likes knowing as many allied superpeople are as outfitted and contactable as possible. Makes the likelihood of him being able to stay out of the game even more of a permanent circumstance.”

Bucky nodded again. Getting technology designed by Stark Industries was the most practical option for durability. Stark didn’t even need to get personally involved in the making of it himself if he didn’t want to, as his wife’s company had plenty of top tier scientists. But he still liked the challenges of tinkering, and insisted on his personal touch when it was for anyone that had been directly involved in the war against Thanos.

It still didn’t make Bucky exactly comfortable with it. His own arm felt like it was tingling in remembered sympathy.

Steve was watching Bucky with a small frown. “How’s the basement?”

Bucky shrugged, grateful for the change of subject. “Some drywall and insulation needs to be replaced. Electrical cables and pipes seem to be all intact.”

“If you want I can make a list of supplies to pick up when I head out for the phones,” Steve said.

Bucky felt that fist inside of him loosen a little. His lips pulled up as he nodded again, but he was unable to help turning his eyes back to check on Loki and subsequently dampen his mood.

Loki had taken the smoothie, and was bracing himself up on a thin, trembling arm, head bent as he drank it down with dogged concentration. His pants had slid down a little over his hips, showing the faint marks from the lingering damage to his lower back bracketing the sharp line of his spine pressing against his skin.

Goddamn it.

“Can you look for something else?” Bucky asked, keeping his voice low. “Something...I don’t know. Everything that I have in this house would be too firm for him.”

If Loki was listening in, he didn’t give any obvious reaction.

“Cushions would be a good idea,” Sam agreed. “Bunch of hardcore plank mattress sleepers aren’t gonna be on the same level as someone who can’t even take being on a couch. And I can always call Stark back if you don’t find anything.”

That stirred an unpleasant feeling in Bucky’s stomach, strengthened by the slew of memories that tried to rush in and take down the mental wall he’d raised to keep them back.

But the unpleasant feeling he got when he looked towards the starving alien on his living room floor was worse.

Loki drank his second smoothie a lot faster than the first. When he was done, he gasped desperately for the air he’d been foregoing as he drank, hunched over the floor. The arm that had taken most of his weight was beginning to wobble violently beneath him, but instead of collapsing, he started to strain to bring himself more upright.

Now Steve got up from the dining room table, all but rushing his way over, while Bucky and Sam fell into step close behind.

“Can I help?” Steve asked, and Loki flinched with a sharp “No.”

Steve frowned in discontent, but didn’t push, standing back and putting his hands into his pants’ pockets.

If Bucky’s skin was that prone to damage, he wouldn’t want anyone touching him, either.

Loki struggled to bring himself into a fully sitting position, head bowed as Bucky and Sam took up spots next to Steve. Bucky could see his gaze tracking them. Loki’s eye visibly twitched when Sam inadvertently stood in a position where he blocked some of the light from the window.

Loki’s face was dry, now, but there was still some lingering puffiness from his crying. His hair rested around his face in viciously snarled tangles, giving Bucky the vague urge to go and brush out his own. At this point, it’d probably be better to just cut Loki’s hair, especially if his scalp was going to be as tender and prone to injury as the rest of him.

His skin wasn’t grey anymore, or quite as ghostly white as it once had been. But he was still so damn pale, Bucky’s black shirt and the cast of natural light only accentuating his pallid complexion.

Loki flicked his eyes up, taking them all in more directly, before he rested his gaze on Steve. “Captain,” he greeted, his voice a little less dull than it had been the night before.

The corner of Steve’s mouth tugged up at the acknowledgment. Bucky thought that whatever the reason was that Loki had come to his house at the specific time he had, he was damn lucky that Steve was there to help.

“How are you feeling?” Steve asked.

“Terrible,” Loki said bluntly. He dipped his head lower, adding somewhat reluctantly, “But...improved.”

Bucky thought ‘improved’ was still a stretch but Steve nodded, looking satisfied with that answer. “Anything you can think of that you need?”

“You are still refusing to imprison me,” Loki questioned. He sounded confused, but more than that he sounded like he thought Steve might be a little bit dumb. Or crazy.

“That wasn’t really on my mind,” Steve said, rigidly placid.

Loki exhaled slowly, nodding slowly, like he was confirming with himself that he’d heard the right answer. He turned to Bucky next, a good portion of that agreeableness falling away as his eyes narrowed in scrutiny, lingering on his metal arm.

Bucky kept his face blank. Loki still held himself a little like a cornered animal, but the wheels looked like they were turning a lot more easily in his brain. Something like a shrewd intelligence was coming back, even if it was tattered to hell from everything he’d gone through.

A tingle ran down Bucky’s back the longer Loki watched him. He thought to himself that he was going to have to double check later if Steve was sure it was just the scepter that gave Loki the ability to get into people’s heads.

“Are you thinking we’ll need to lock you up?” Sam asked, breaking the tension of their locked eyes.

Now there was real tension to Loki’s shoulders. His voice was flat as he responded. “Would you believe me if I said no?”

“I’m pretty sure I already told you I did,” Sam pointed out.

Loki swallowed roughly, presenting the bearing of a beaten dog that expected another kick. “In any case, it would appear I have little ability to prevent it.”

“No one’s taking what you did last night personally,” Sam said, full of as much firm reassurance as Steve.

Loki went quiet for a moment, seeming to consider that. “What I need,” he repeated in cautious hope, a faraway look beginning to return to his eyes. He shook his head, coming back to the present. “Rest and sustenance, which you have already so generously provided.” He darted a nervous look towards Sam. “And...light.”

Sam looked behind him at the window, realizing. He stepped to the side, freeing Loki from his shadow and clearing his view to the outside.

Some of the stiffness left Loki. The sun had climbed high enough at that point that it wasn’t coming in with full strength, but he seemed content with just being able to see the sky at all.

Which made Bucky wonder how upset he was going to be when the sun went down. He hoped the living room bulbs and the extra lights Steve had brought in from the garage would be enough.

“We can keep providing those things,” Steve said, voice calm and steady.

“And keep an eye on the potential threat to your planet in the meantime.”

The frustration was back on Steve’s face, and Bucky found himself somewhat of the same mind. He knew that he wasn’t one hundred percent won over, but Loki was being stubbornly concerned about a problem that just wasn’t there. And it wouldn’t be, if he didn’t become outright violent.

If he endeared himself enough to Steve beforehand, maybe not even then.

“We’re just trying to help you,” Steve said. “It sounds like it’s working.”

Bucky gave Steve a look, nowhere near as certain about that. In his mind Loki’s returning ability to interact only served to highlight how damaged his body was. He didn’t even have the strength to stand on his own yet, and if anyone helped him, it was going to be at the expense of his own health.

And the sight of him desperately clinging to Sam’s phone in the dark was still fresh in Bucky’s mind.

Loki let out a breath of a laugh, showing a considerable amount of teeth before the expression faded. “You know, Thor and I were actually intending on returning to Earth together. I asked him if he thought it was a good idea to bring me along.”

Steve tilted his head, curious. “And what did he say?”

“He said ‘probably not,’” Loki said. A hint of amusement remained in his expression. “But that was not going to stop him from gleefully inflicting my presence upon you all.”

“We would have taken all the help we could get,” Steve said honestly.

That, Bucky could agree with.

“I am sorry that I was held up,” Loki said, tone dry. “I wanted to come. But, destiny…it arrived, and I...” He shuddered and hunched before he could finish, his arms pulling in tight to his body. All the nerve he’d regained - gone, just like that. His voice dwindled with it, sapped of all personality but the building panic. “I, I couldn’t...” He suddenly jolted his head up, looking towards the sky, eyes rigidly wide, like he thought he would die if he blinked. His next words came in a desperate rush. “Can you tell me of Thor?”

Steve had been frowning at Loki’s response, but now he looked decidedly more disturbed. “Loki,” he asked. “Are you having memory problems?”

“No,” Loki said. His hands were beginning to shake in his lap, fingers curling into each other. Tears were quickly forming in his eyes. “I am not. I know - you’ve told me before. Last night, and before that. I just, I need...I must hear it. Please. Let me hear it.”

Steve crouched down cautiously, trying to draw Loki’s gaze without blocking the light. Loki flinched at the proximity, thin arms cording like he was anticipating an attack.

Bucky’s own body tensed in kind, wondering if Steve was going to insist on reaching out. He was ready to bodily pull him back if he did.

All Steve did was say, “Thor’s alive.”

New tears broke free to rush down Loki’s cheeks, dropping from the sharp line of his jaw. He hadn’t looked away from the window. “Thank you,” he said, the words shaky and heartfelt. “Thank you.”

Bucky was beginning to see a pattern, and it was a pattern he didn’t like.

Chapter Text

His mind was trying to return to the blackness when his body was no longer there.

He was even growing lucid enough to recognize it himself, now. A madman well versed in his own madness. It twisted and sparked and snapped beneath the thin veneer of his personhood, waiting to snatch him back into a thing that only knew the terrible horror of its own continued existence.

He was not strong enough to fight it on his own, even as he felt it begin to swell within like a tidal wave, as the air around him grew thin in his lungs, weighing him down.

His thoughts rampaged in blind fear of his own failure but those words, those sweet words - Thor’s alive - struck them down like an ax, forcing them to die an ignoble death.

And when he dreaded the fall, he could note that he was on solid ground.

When he expected the chill that would numb his flesh, he felt only warmth.

He could hear, and smell, and feel, and taste. Norns, how he could taste.

And most importantly, the light outside the window remained steady, dousing his surroundings with color and richness.

It would not allow him to fall back into the dark.

Bucky watched Loki fight not to lose it by spending the better part of the next minute intensely staring out the window like he was hypnotized by it. His hands were draped in his lap, slender fingers pulling at each other in a constant fidget that offset the near-stillness of the rest of him.

It was hard to watch, but anything to do with Loki since he’d arrived had been hard to watch. At least Loki didn’t sink deeper into it, and though his breathing wasn’t exactly calm, he didn’t hyperventilate himself into a bigger panic. Neither did he explode with magic and turn the living room into a matching warzone to the basement.

When Bucky finally got the chance to write everything that had happened over the last 24 hours in his journal, it was going to be a hell of an entry.

Loki came back to reality eventually without prompting, a gentle breath easing through him as the rest of his tension released. When he turned to face them, he jerked back a little, like he was surprised that they were all still standing there.

Bucky watched the entire transition, trying not to clench his fists so close to his easily threatened and vaguely-powered houseguest.

Steve, at least on the outside, took it in a bit more stride. “Your body seems to react strongly to pressure,” he said, as if Loki hadn’t just broken down mid-sentence and then completely checked out on them.

Loki blinked rapidly, then rubbed tiredly at the moisture around his eyes. “If you are asking if I know precisely why my body is in its current state, the answer is no.”

“So you don’t know if it’ll go away,” Steve said.

Loki dropped his hand, something cold brimming in his eyes to replace the earlier distress. “The only thing that I know for certain is that I sorely wished that I had died rather than lived to endure its development.”

He said the words with emphasis, almost aggression. Bucky watched the response with warring feelings, wondering how Loki could dance on that dime of despair and intimidation, even in the condition he was in.

Steve frowned deeply, disquieted at Loki’s response. “I know that Thor’s going to be really glad you made it back,” he said, coating the name with a special, deliberate emphasis, just like Bucky had done the night before.

Loki responded favorably to that, his icy stare thawing into something a lot more absorbed by the words, wanting to hear more. Let it never be said that Steve Rogers wasn’t a shrewd strategist.

The expression faded away quickly, though, leaving Loki to just look exhausted again. Like his body was frail enough that it couldn’t handle holding onto hope or happiness any more than it could handle pressure.

Loki licked at his chapped lips. “Are you trying to manipulate me, Captain?”

“I was actually trying to cheer you up.”

Loki made a rough noise, tinged with disdain. “I fail to see the difference.”

“Yeah,” Sam broke in, sounding deeply unimpressed with Loki’s tone, “it for sure doesn’t really seem like you’re all that good at recognizing when people are just trying to be nice.”

Loki looked sharply towards Sam, like he was trying to guess if that had been a threatening statement or not. Cautiously, he seemed to decide on the latter. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.”

Sam nodded in brisk greeting. “Sam Wilson. Currently the Captain America. Thanks for leaving my phone intact last night.”

The expression of confusion on Loki’s face only deepened. He gave Steve a pointed look.

Steve shrugged with a small smile. “I’m retired.”

“Retired,” Loki repeated, looking Steve up and down with attentive thoroughness. “Like an elder. Like an invalid.”

“Like someone who’s fought in a few intergalactic wars in his time and has inspired a whole lot of people to take up arms for the cause,” Sam said, irritated on Steve’s behalf.

Loki didn’t look chastened. He took the information in with a bland look, and Bucky didn’t know if he was really disinterested or if there was just a heavy shield in place over the emotions he was feeling.

When he looked towards Bucky directly, the uncertainty around what his expression meant disappeared. Because what Bucky was seeing aimed at him was definitely a mask.

“And you?” Loki asked. His voice was mild.

“Bucky,” Bucky said, intentionally brief.

“Bucky,” Loki repeated, testing the way the name felt in his mouth. His eyes drew to the metal hand like a magnet. “Nothing else?”

Bucky shrugged, unable to help curling his fingers, then putting his hands in the pockets of his sweats in a silent signal. “Not right now.”

Loki didn’t seem satisfied with Bucky’s response. That was too bad, because he wasn’t going to be indulged with anything else. It wasn’t like anything Bucky could tell him about himself was going to make him feel more secure. It would probably just make him think that he was right to be wary of all of them.

Loki turned his gaze down, looking at the empty smoothie bottle sitting in front of him with something that looked a lot like longing. He pressed his lips together, inhaling deeply through his nostrils into lungs that still didn’t seem to want to work quite right.

“So, Thor is alive,” he said, breathing out stiltedly. “Where is he?”

“In space,” Steve said. When Loki gave him a disgruntled look, he added, “I’m sorry. That’s about as specific as we can get right now.”

Loki didn’t look exactly pleased about that, either, but he seemed to accept it. “And the other Asgardians,” he said, and now there was something that faltered in his words, like he was dreading the answer. “Did they accompany him here?”

“They have a settlement on some land,” Sam said. “Place called New Asgard. It’s a long ways from here and the wi-fi signal ain’t nothing to write home about, but if you want, we can arrange to take you there.”

At that statement, Loki’s face drained of what little blood it had, reminding Bucky of how corpse-like he’d looked even after the grey tones had seeped out of his skin. “No,” he said sharply, then shut his eyes like he was irritated with himself. “I would rather not.”

“That’s all right,” Sam said, firm with understanding. “Travel isn’t something we’re expecting you to jump on right away.”

Bucky shot Sam a peeved look. “Then why ask him?”

Sam kept his voice even, even as his brow quirked up in similar annoyance. “I just wanted him to know it was an option.”

“It’s not an option,” Bucky exclaimed, gesturing forward. “Not unless he wants more broken bones.”

“Buck,” Steve said quietly, reaching his hand out and clutching at Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky subsided, but privately still thought the offer was ridiculous. They didn’t know what they were doing - he knew Steve was the better judge of Asgardian capabilities, but the fact that Loki hadn’t just keeled over on them permanently wasn’t from any sort of skilled touch or deep knowledge. Loki had even said it himself: he’d wanted to die and it hadn’t happened.

Bucky and Steve knew a thing or two about having bodies that could survive treatment a normal human couldn’t. Asgardians were on a completely different level even from that. Thor had taken the full force of the light of a star and then magically came down to join their battle in Wakanda more powerful than ever.

Loki hadn’t explicitly told them where he’d been all this time, but more and more Bucky was getting the cold feeling that the answer was painfully simple.

Loki, for his part, reacted to Bucky’s statements with a noise that sounded vaguely like amusement. “I must make quite the pitiful sight,” he murmured self-deprecatingly, his eyes still shut. “Especially considering our initial encounter.”

No arguing that, Bucky thought, eyes going to the dramatic dip of Loki’s clavicle visible through the shirt collar hanging loose around his neck. He made a mental note to put clothes down on the list for Steve’s errand run. He’d avoided it before now because he hadn’t figured on Loki making this much of a comeback.

“You’ll improve,” Steve said, with full confidence. “You already have.”

Loki pried his eyes apart to stare with a narrowed, squinting gaze. His expression said he was way more on Bucky’s side of the line on his opinion about that statement than Steve’s.

“He’s right,” Sam said in agreement. “And he’s got the sketches to prove it. A couple weeks ago you used to look like you’d been steam rollered before being run through a meat grinder and then lightly roasted.”

Steve’s disapproval abruptly made a quick detour from Bucky to Sam.

Sam did a double take. “What? You know that’s being generous.”

Loki made another sound, shoulders jerking up like he thought all of that was decidedly hilarious. But his body didn’t quite agree with his amusement - as his core muscles engaged in laughter, they seemed to lose their strength to support him. He lost his humor, grimacing as he righted himself with effort, then just as soon was sapped of that ability and tilted over with a gasp. He reached out desperately with an arm, locking it into place to keep his torso upright.

The mask wasn’t there at all any more on his face, not even a hint. And he wasn’t fainting; he was frightened.

“I’m going to fall,” he said, fast and sharp through his teeth. The sheen of tears had returned.

Steve shifted forward. Bucky let him, even if every muscle in his body instinctively readied itself. Loki tensed in kind, a low odd gulping noise coming from his throat, but whatever he thought about Steve’s threat level wasn’t enough to trump his desire not to collapse.

When Steve made contact, hands gently grasping at his arms, Loki shivered, his eyes clamping shut again. He’d shivered the same way when Bucky had put his hand on him to stop him down in the basement. His heart rate was probably spiking just as badly as it had then, too.

Steve grimly helped Loki down until he was laying on his side on the blankets, breathing raggedly as he pulled himself back - again - from another breakdown. He took a portion of the blankets into his fist, clenching down on it like he was using them for an anchor while he half buried his face.

Steve stayed down with him, reluctantly releasing his hold. “That didn’t injure you too badly, did it?”

Loki gave a brief shake of his head. He looked like he wanted to sink through the floor, but his breaths were already beginning to even out.

“Let’s get you another drink,” Sam said, filling the silence before it could become too awkward.

“That would be appreciated,” Loki said, muffled by the blankets.

Loki stayed awake until the afternoon.

Steve and Sam broke down some of the war with Thanos for him - though Sam couldn’t fill in the blanks during the five years post-Snap. Loki managed to regain just enough strength to lift his torso so he could eagerly swallow down another smoothie while he listened, his eyes swimming with almost perpetual tears that no one commented on. Sam had filled one of Bucky’s higher capacity water bottles to keep near the blankets, and once done with the smoothie Loki transitioned to drinking that without missing a beat, like he was only getting thirstier the more he consumed.

He took most of what they told him calmly, with even visible interest when the planning for the Time Heist was mentioned.

But there were mines in the field. Any direct mention of Thanos or the Black Order were no gos. The Infinity Stones were tolerated in passing, but not enough to talk about them at any kind of length. Skating even close to any talk of the Infinity Gauntlet sent a thin sheen of sweat breaking out on Loki’s skin and blew his eyes wide, threatening to send his breathing back into labored panic.

Bucky kept his hands in his pockets and out of sight to prevent compounding that reaction.

But for the most part, Loki drank in the information like it was rehydrating him just as much as any fluids could. They didn’t go into much detail about what had happened in Thanos’s ultimate defeat, as that included several subjects that would inch Loki into shutting down. The fact that he was dust seemed to satisfy Loki enough.

Not that he wasn’t going to shut down eventually, but at least the next time Loki started to really fade out again, it was slow. Slow enough that Sam and Steve were able to help him to the bathroom while he was still conscious. They first discussed carrying him over by way of using the blankets like a sling for his body, but Loki refused.

“What unintentional damage you will cause is trifling,” he said, almost slurred with how tired he was growing.

He was trying to make it sound like a dignity thing, but Bucky could see the wariness in his eyes and the way he tightened up with a strength he couldn’t really spare.

Steve and Sam reluctantly picked him up between them, letting him set his own unsteady feet on the ground. “Guess it’s good to start the physical therapy as early as possible,” Sam remarked while they carefully took him across the house.

Bucky took the time to tidy the empty drink containers and move the blanket pile a few inches closer to the window. He looked through it at the garden while he was there, making sure none of the plants were overly wilting with the growing midday temperatures. There was some transpiration, but nothing as dramatic as had been caused by the previous weeks’ heat waves. A few new weeds had popped up that he wanted to get to by that evening, but everything else checked out.

When Loki was brought back into the living room, he was more than done, head drooped down like the leaves in the garden. He reached for the bottle of water once he was down, struggling to coordinate his tired limbs until Steve took pity and helped him out, twisting the cap off and tilting it to his lips so he could drink his fill. Then he was out, and even if it had been more like falling asleep this time, he didn’t rouse when Steve checked his pulse and adjusted his limbs.

Sam’s phone buzzed while they were looking over the new bruises that had developed from the walk to the bathroom. He checked the screen. “Stark says ETA one hour to the drop off site.”

Bucky pressed his lips together at the fresh pang in his chest. Stark’s given timeline to help people was often a lot quicker than his stated offers.

Steve nodded sharply. “I’ll get ready to head out.”

Bucky looked at Loki, resting with something on his face that looked a lot more like peace than the last several days. The new marks on his arms were richly colored, overlaying the nearly healed ones from the night before.

He’d been up for a while, this time. Bucky wasn’t sure what that meant for how long Loki’d need to rest before his next awakening, but he knew he had some time. He quickly jotted down a list of supplies for Steve, sticking it to the inside of the front door.

“I’m gonna go for a run,” he announced.

“At the height of the afternoon in the blazing summer,” Sam remarked. He looked at Bucky’s layers of clothing. “I’m sweating just looking at you.”

“You told me to wear the Falcon sweatpants,” Bucky said.

“And I admire your commitment. But some of us would rather go for exercising t-shirts or something a bit less than five layers instead of risking heat exhaustion.”

“Well, I don’t get heat exhaustion,” Bucky said irritably.

“You don’t have to work this hard to convince me to make you a smoothie, Barnes,” Sam said, heading for the kitchen. “I know you’ve been getting jealous.”

Bucky sighed, taking a tie out of his pocket to pull his hair back. “Any other special requests for dinner?”

“I’ll give Steve my own list,” Sam said. “Those basil leaves you grabbed for me this morning should do it.”

Bucky watched Sam’s back as he started slicing up a banana, that pang stirring in his chest again, broadening and moving towards his stomach. “And you’re leaving tomorrow morning.”

“Duty calls,” Sam confirmed, tossing the pieces into the blender. “If you happen to screw anything up after I’m gone, you’ll at least have some brand new phones so you can give me a ring.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said, meaning the exact opposite. “And what happens if you screw up something?”

“Never gonna happen,” Sam said, frowning like Bucky had just said something ludicrous.

“Right,” Bucky said, opening the front door. He glanced at Loki on his way out, relieved that this time, there were no tears.

“Where the hell is Stark?”

The voice rang out from somewhere in the distance, carrying to Bucky over the chaos of the battlefield. He’d experienced war before, but the amount of species and colliding aircraft and beings of extreme power in this one would have been more than staggering if he wasn’t so focused on the fight.

And he was going to keep fighting, until either he was dead, or the battle was over.

He was firing into a swarm of multi-armed aliens when a woman in a silver suit flew through the air above him. She was screaming Stark’s name with a pain and desperation that Bucky more than recognized - he remembered it.

(”Howard!”)

He kept fighting, until he felt a familiar charge of power on the air, sending a chill through his gut.

Then there was a voice, rumbling deep. “I am inevitable.”

Someone was frantically shouting. “He’s got the stones. He’s got the stones!”

Dozens of golden portals swirled into being on the battlefield. Through them, Bucky could see Infinity lighting up.

Last time that had happened, he’d felt his body disintegrate. He’d watched it.

One of the sorcerers hovered overhead, cape billowing, shouting. “Go to him!”

Bucky threw himself forward. The snap of fingers rang like a gunshot in his ears.

Bucky stalled on his run, panting to catch his breath. He didn’t know what exact time it was, or how long he’d been out circling the property at a dead sprint, but the sun was sinking steadily down. Off to the side in the trees, a group of spooked does watched him warily with perked ears.

“Ladies,” he said, giving them a brisk wave. They stared unblinkingly at him through large, dark eyes. “Thanks for not jumping the new garden fence.”

They responded by moving away from him in quick steps, not seeing him as an immediate threat but definitely not wanting to hang around to find out if he’d become one. As they filtered away, Bucky paused as he saw that a tree that had been behind them was one of those that had visible shield impressions in its bark. It was from earlier in the year when Steve had been gone and Sam had frequently visited to practice with him. There were a few different dents in the bark on this one, but Bucky could tell this specific tree had been one of his marks. His hits had always been deeper than Sam’s, his throws harder.

Not subtle, he thought, grimly looking down at metal fingers.

The distant rumbling rev of an approaching motorcycle sounded through the air, drawing his attention from his own rumbling thoughts before he could brood too deeply. Steve was already back from gathering supplies.

He exhaled, looking towards the direction of the road, his view blocked by trees.

He took the long way back.

Chapter Text

Steve came back into Bucky’s house with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a few paper bags of groceries in his grip. Sam was sitting on the couch watching TV, his arm hanging over the back of it. He craned his neck to look at Steve with some surprise.

“That was fast,” he said. “You get a glimpse of the frenetic gardener on your way in?”

Steve shook his head, concern rising. He looked towards the window, checking for Bucky in the yard. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah,” Sam reassured with a quick nod. He sighed through his nostrils, looking down at where Loki was resting. “Not a peep out of this guy. Man, if I could sleep even half that good…”

“I found some cushioning for him,” Steve said, unzipping his duffle and pulling out a rolled up gel pad. “The sales associate thought I was buying it for a grandparent.”

“Should mention that to Loki as payback for the old guy crack he made earlier,” Sam remarked, getting up to help Steve unravel it.

Loki didn’t wake up during the transition. His body was limp, and still way too light from what Steve remembered from facing off with him physically. But when they checked the marks, they were all but gone. His healing looked like it was starting to rival a supersoldier’s. Even the general appearance of his skin was starting to look better - less ashen, and the elasticity was finally returning after all the fluid he’d managed to take in.

He was a long way from baseline health, but he was progressing better than even Steve could have hoped for.

Sam whistled softly at the obvious improvement. “Doesn’t look that far off from solid food, now,” he said. “Maybe after a few more smoothie sessions. That is, if you’re still planning on doing this here?”

“Until Loki’s ready for something different,” Steve said, grabbing the grocery bags and taking them into the kitchen.

Sam followed him, helping to organize the food containers on the counter. “You know there’s not going to be a lot of great options for him if we can’t get a hold of Thor. He didn’t exactly have the benefit of a public display of redemption.”

“Well, I wasn’t really planning on writing in to any newspapers about it.”

“I guess flying under the radar is pretty old hat at this point,” Sam said. “And Barnes just spends his days acting like he’s expecting another army to arrive for him personally by default. I was just wondering if that was what you wanted to do.”

“Thanks to you, my schedule’s all clear,” Steve said with a hint of humor. “And Loki seems reasonable.”

“You mean he seems terrified,” Sam said. “I don’t think he’s as dangerous as Barnes expects but that doesn’t mean building him up isn’t going to be a challenge, especially if he wasn’t dusted out of existence for that five year gap like the rest of us.”

Steve frowned, remembering how it had felt in the days after they’d lost the battle in Wakanda. Checking what soldiers were left. How it didn’t seem like the anguish should be able to replenish itself with every missing persons announcement, but somehow, it did. Every time.

“I hate that I wasn’t around to help,” Sam murmured, “but sometimes I think I got real lucky, being able to check out for all that time before the final fight.” He raised his eyebrows. “Plus, y’know - after it was all over, I got therapy. Like a badass.”

Steve smiled, shaking some of the strain from his face with effort. “You suggesting that for Loki?”

“I’d suggest it for about every person still on this damn planet,” Sam said firmly, then tilted his head with a small grimace. “But probably not a former alien war criminal. Especially not when we’re still only months out from the last invasion. Hand me those pine nuts.”

“I think we’re at least doing something right,” Steve said, tossing over the bag. “And he doesn’t seem too eager to leave.”

“I sort of got that when he teleported himself into your bed,” Sam said dryly. “Thought Barnes was going to strangle him then and there,” Sam went oddly quiet. He furtively looked over his shoulder towards the front door. “So how are things going between you and him? Everything smooth sailing? Besides - y’know.”

“It’s good,” Steve said, watching Sam pull out a food processor from the cupboard and start loading it with ingredients. He leaned his hip against the counter, slumping his shoulders a little. “I think it’s good,” he amended. “Sometimes it’s like we never spent seventy years apart.”

Sam didn’t look surprised. “And other times?”

Steve dipped his head down with a sigh, feeling his smile grow pained. “I almost get the feeling he still wants to run from me.”

Sam frowned, pulsing the processor until the herbs and nuts inside blended into a fragrant paste. “So that’s not just you,” he said when he was done, the words heavy with meaning. “When you were gone, we visited each other a lot.” His face contorted briefly, like he was uncomfortable talking about it. “Long days of training. Longer nights sitting around with a couple of beers, watching movies, just talking. Nothing deep. Stupid stuff.”

Steve pinched his brow, listening with keen interest at the picture being painted, guilt at when you were gone at odds with the relief that Sam and Bucky had been there for each other in his absence.

“I know what that sounds like,” Sam said, scraping the sauce free of the food processor and into a bowl. “And I want you to know right now you are absolutely incorrect in your line of thinking.” There was another awkward beat of silence. “Mostly.”

Steve got the feeling Sam wanted to say more, so he just stayed quiet.

“I got a little buzzed one night,” Sam eventually said, turning to meet Steve’s eyes solemnly. “Not bad, just enough to loosen up. I thought I was reading the room right, but as soon as anything started, he’d go lukewarm. At one point he got up to go to the bathroom and when he came back I swore he’d doubled up on the shirts. But when I asked about it, he pretended like it wasn’t a big deal.”

Steve’s concern grew. He thought back to Sam’s gentle ribbing about Bucky’s clothes when he’d first arrived. “Do you think something’s going on?”

“He can still fight like hell, so it’s not a question of physicality,” Sam said. “I’m not usually that far off my game, though. I just wanted you to know, it’s definitely something. And you might need to be prepared for that wall if you want to go any deeper.”

Steve blinked, lips parting. Sam didn’t sound jealous, or particularly hurt. He and Bucky consistently interacted like there wasn’t anything off. Beyond their small arguments, there was no obvious tension or bitterness.

A small flare of something started writhing in Steve at Sam’s admission. It was knocked down by another, stronger part of him - one that pushed down that single-minded dumb kid that wanted to take over his line of thinking, send him outside because there might be something wrong with Bucky that he hadn’t realized he needed to confront.

He exhaled heavily. “Thanks for the heads up,” he said, and he meant it.

The front door opened.

Bucky walked in, eyes first going to Loki on the new cushions, before he stared into the kitchen. He came to a stop before he’d crossed the living room, smelling faintly of soil, strands of hair that had fallen free from his ponytail hanging haphazardly over his face.

He looked between them, frown lines forming on his forehead, then right back to Loki again like he was worried he’d missed something bad. “What happened?”

“You’re late for kitchen duty is what happened,” Sam said authoritatively, free of his previous somber tone. “Your drink’s in the fridge. Wash your hands and fuel up.”

Bucky’s frown deepened, but he slowly walked in the rest of the way to the sink, turning the faucet on.

Steve stared for a little too long at the way Bucky’s shoulders worked beneath his clothes before he remembered. “Oh, Buck,” he said, digging into his pocket for the new phone.

Bucky pressed his lips together, as he dried his hands with a towel. He took the phone with a nod. “Thanks. Did you get the clothes for Loki?”

Steve nodded. “They’re in my bag.” He let the corner of his mouth pull up. “What do you think he’ll think of plaid?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but he was unable to help his mirrored smile. “Don’t think it really matters, considering that get up he showed up in.”

“Well if he wants to be here, he might as well get with the program on the Earthling clothes,” Sam said. “Leather and metal don’t exactly make for great pajamas.”

“Metal’s not that bad,” Bucky remarked, tapping vibranium fingers meaningfully against the counter.

Any lingering anxiety Steve had felt about his conversation with Sam drifted away the longer Bucky interacted with them, even if he couldn’t help watching for telltale signs of anything off in his movements. There wasn’t anything obvious, but Sam had said whatever it was didn’t hinder Bucky’s physical abilities.

It could have been purely mental. Bucky hadn’t gone to anything like therapy or a support group since being treated in Wakanda. He kept to his house and tended to his plants.

And if there was any kind of wall that he wanted to keep up, it wouldn’t be the first time.

The next time Loki woke up, it was well into the night. Bucky and Sam had gone to bed, and Steve was on watch with his sketchbook in his lap. He was drawing from the warmth still resting inside him from that evening - outlining Bucky’s look of annoyed confusion when Sam told a joke that almost went over his head and Sam’s resulting radiant smile.

Even Loki was proving to be a gentler subject, his angular features slack, his chest and stomach moving evenly with his breaths. His lashes were a more contrasting splash against his sharp cheekbones now that his eyes weren’t being swallowed whole by bruised-looking skin. When Steve flipped back to the earlier sketches he’d done, the difference was staggering - even unconscious, Loki’s suffering had been incredibly obvious. Steve just hadn’t realized how much, until he was given this new, softer look to compare it to.

And there was plenty of illumination for Loki’s appearance. As soon as sunset had begun they’d made preparations - closing the curtains and activating dozens of electric lanterns, setting them in a close circle around Loki. The living room bulbs were powerful but there were pockets of dimness, and they wanted to avoid any replication of the panic Loki had felt in the basement.

Loki started shifting first, in slow, subtle movements, a low moan emitting from his throat that cut off into a soft whimper. Steve looked up as long limbs searchingly pressed into the pad beneath them, the rest of him going still.

“How’s it going?” Steve asked.

Loki flinched, eyes shooting open and darting towards him. He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing as he took a few deep breaths to shake off his surprise, eyes running searchingly around the room and then down at the new clothes he’d been dressed in. They were loose, but not as loose as Bucky’s - and Steve hadn’t been lying about the plaid, though it was in the form of green pajama pants.

His assessment of himself and his surroundings done, Loki let his head fall back. “Spectacularly,” he said, voice strained. He reached for the closest lantern and placed it on his chest. It cast a golden glow over his face. “Is it night?”

“Yeah,” Steve answered, and Loki shuddered. “The sun will be back first thing tomorrow.”

Loki stared at the ceiling as he took a few more calming breaths. “Have you decided what it is you wish to do with me?”

Steve frowned. “I thought we were pretty clear.”

“So that is a no,” Loki said wearily, eyes drifting back down towards the lantern. “As you’d imagine, I cannot offer much in my present state. But if I am allowed more time-”

“We don’t want anything from you but for you to heal.”

“So you say,” Loki said, almost dismissively. “But I would prefer more tangible insurance. You will weary of this charade eventually.”

“It’s not a charade,” Steve said.

“I attempted to invade your planet and then betrayed the power of the Space Stone to Thanos, giving him the ability to make his own way to the others and finish the job himself.”

“You said you did it to save Thor.”

“Even so, that excuse is only applicable to the second part of that statement.”

“You don’t have any plans to attack us.”

“I owe you a great debt,” Loki said sharply, then seemed to regret the wording. “A debt that will only grow deeper the longer my ailing body requires assistance. We should begin discussing possible arrangements for you to collect.”

The way Loki was talking was strange - like the words were coming out but held at a distance, so he didn’t have to think too hard on them.

“If you want to help out when you’re up to it, I’m not going to try to convince you otherwise,” Steve said. “But that’s not a pressing issue, and it’s not a requirement.”

Loki finally looked at Steve through narrowed eyes. “So there is something in the care itself that you would gain,” he said testingly. Before Steve’s frustration could really rise, he let his head drop. “I was adrift,” he eventually said, fingers curling, pale and long. “For years. With a body that refused to die. For a while, there was an anchor - the very source of energies that began the universe, converged into one point. And then they were destroyed, and all traces of them - deliberately - erased.” A tear broke free and rushed down his face, but he kept talking like he hadn’t noticed. “Without them, my efforts to find...anywhere, became impossible. I could only exist. And suffer. Until...they returned all at once.”

He looked pointedly at Steve, eyes blazing behind his tears, like he was pushing on in defiance of his own despair.

Steve couldn’t help his interest. “You mean the Infinity Stones.”

Another tear ran down Loki’s face. His face was set hard but he was starting to shake. “I followed their signal. The Space Stone and I had...an understanding.” He exhaled in a wet gasp, his eyes falling shut. “The energy led me here. To whomever had last been in proximity to the stones.”

Steve started at the revelation.

It had been months since he’d returned the stones to their proper places in time. Had Loki spent all that time trying to make his way to Earth? Had he not seen any other planets he could access on his way?

And what would have happened to him if Steve hadn’t come back?

“You didn’t know who had them,” Steve said, leaving most of his questions unasked. “It could have been someone else that had last touched them. It could have been Thanos.”

Loki laughed, eyes like bitter chips of ice when they reopened. “At that point, that was a risk I was all too eager to take. He might have thought I’d finally paid my dues, and been charitable enough to kill me properly. It wouldn’t have been difficult. I still bore the marks of his attack, since my body was so preoccupied with simply keeping itself alive against my will that it had no energy to devote to healing.”

Loki was watching the ceiling again, eyes tearing, cradling the lantern against his chest. His breaths moved in hitches and starts.

Steve sighed, setting his sketchbook aside on the couch. He leaned forward, wondering if he’d made a mistake in letting Loki lead the conversation. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I was not going to remain where I was.”

“No, I mean you didn’t have to talk about this. You told us before that you didn’t want to.”

“But you wanted to know,” Loki said, voice dull. “I could feel it. And you are not...as I said, I have very little else to currently offer in exchange. You gave no hints as to another option.” He swallowed convulsively, somehow seeming to droop even though he was already supine. He looked beaten.

He looked like he’d just spent over five years floating through space.

Sam had been right - being dusted out of existence would have been easier.

Steve fought the growing upset in his stomach by going to the kitchen, grabbing Loki some water and a new smoothie. He brought them into the living room, setting them on the ground. Loki, who had still been trapped in that thousand yard stare, turned his eyes upon them immediately.

“These are yours,” Steve said. “And they’re not in exchange for what you just did.”

Loki didn’t immediately go for the drinks, even though he swallowed again with enough gusto to let Steve know he was salivating at the thought. “Retirement is an odd look on you, Rogers.”

Steve tilted his head in acknowledgment. “It’s an odd feeling, too.”

“Is it permanent?” Loki asked, eyes narrowed, something like intrigue in his tone. “Has the soldier finally given up his shield?”

“Just passed it on,” Steve said. “It’s still being put to good use. And I’ve got new shields.”

Loki snorted, all but rolling his eyes. “And I, the charge that you have so nobly intercepted.” He shook his head slowly, then turned it to gaze at the smoothie. When he spoke again, his voice was faint. “Thor is alive,” he said, like a request.

“Thor’s alive,” Steve said.

Loki moved as if that was the permission he’d been waiting for, quietly curling up to help himself to the smoothie. Steve made sure he was steady enough to do it himself, then picked up his sketchbook again.

He didn’t comment on the tears that had restarted, glinting tracks down Loki’s face in the lantern light.

Chapter Text

He’d given what he had to offer.

Captain Rogers had not been precisely approving, but neither did he deny that he’d desired the information.

It seemed to be enough, for now. That was good. It wasn’t as if Loki would be capable of acting on many demands were they to be made of him.

His keepers did not currently have intent to harm him further. This much he had gathered, though quick movements and close proximity or even a sudden voice still sent his frail heart into a shuddering tempo.

They had said they wanted him improved, and their actions so far mostly served to validate this claim.

With each meal he was given, he regained a little more of his strength. His magic continued to revive itself increment by miniscule increment. Breathing was now an unpleasant difficulty instead of an agonized struggle. Movement, though it remained extremely tiring, was growing easier as his body grew more able to resist the weight of the air upon it after so long suspended in nothingness.

When next the Captain assisted in moving him to relieve himself, even the pain of that was less. It sat behind his teeth, an ache stirring in his nerves - most strongly in his arm, which was hooked over the broad shoulders of a man who moved with the practiced pace of experience.

It was still infinitely better than the long dark. He feared pain, but he would choose it in a heartbeat over existence in the vast emptiness. He would choose it gladly.

He was carefully carried back to the nest of padding his caretakers had built, his muscles wildly spasming with fatigue after his brief venture. He wanted to leave consciousness and only return when the sun was back. He could not see the night directly, but he knew it was there, waiting to swallow him. A void of black and distant stars, of freezing cold and constant pain and unending nothingness.

He knew such fears were irrational. Even had he been blind, all he would have to do was touch the cradling softness beneath him, feel the fullness of his belly, or hear the sound of his own breaths to know that things remained radically different from the vacuum of the universe. He could smell leather and the odd chemicals in the material of the cushions he’d been placed upon - and beneath those, a perfume fragrance in the piled blankets that matched that which coated the new garments he had been dressed in.

Being trapped, adrift, was no longer his most pressing issue. Captain Rogers steadily maintained his geniality, if solemnly, the violence he was capable of dispensing stowed firmly away. Beyond that, Loki could still sense the traces of the stones left behind, and there was no longer possibility of them being...erased.

If he was ever lost again, he would find his way back. He told himself this firmly, again and again.

During the course of the evening the Captain occasionally asked after his comfort levels, but mostly spent his time staring at a large flat television displaying humans gathered upon a field with a diamond impression. His writing instrument made gentle continuous scratches against paper, so that even if Loki was not watching him directly he could tell that he was not alone.

Loki kept a lantern close, cradling the light as his mind sunk dumbly into the stimulation of movement and words and sound his environment presented.

He did not remember when he finally drifted away.

Bucky relieved Steve of his watch in the early morning before dawn, his hair hanging loose and damp around his face and smelling faintly of mint. “Sam’s still asleep,” he said, adjusting his jacket around his shoulders and doing his usual assessing look towards Loki. “But I know he’ll be up and barking at me like a drill sergeant any minute now.”

Steve nodded, rising from the couch with his sketchbook in hand. “I’ll hit the shower. I picked up a few outfits for myself, so you can have the rest of your clothes back.”

“Thank god,” Bucky said, performatively aggrieved.

“I know.” Steve let his brow firm with full solemnity. “I really needed a longer inseam.”

Bucky shook his head in exasperation, but the corner of his mouth was pulling up. “You’re not that much taller than me.”

“Oh, it definitely feels like it in these pants,” Steve quipped, grinning a little at Bucky’s deepening scowl as he headed for the bathroom.

After the shower, before he dressed, Steve took a moment to stare at himself in the half-fogged mirror. He looked at the planes of his own stomach, his arms, and even his back. As far as he could tell, except for the stubble that was starting to come in around his jaw, his skin was totally clean and clear of marks. Nothing obvious that would manage to send a signal that could lead someone to Earth from the far reaches of space.

Loki had said he could sense the remnants of the stones on him. Steve hadn’t felt much different physically since he’d traveled through time to take them back. But in their years of studying them the Avengers had known the Infinity Stones, especially out of containment, gave off tremendous amounts of radiation. Mostly to a negative effect, except for the lucky few lives that were spared and empowered.

After the success of the Time Heist, the Avengers had made a plan for how they would use the stones to bring everyone back. Tony and Rocket had developed a gauntlet out of nanotechnology as a casing to help utilize and give what protection it could to the wearer. Initially, they’d considered picking a single member among them to use each of the stones at once like Thanos had.

”You’re really a bunch of dipshits, you know that?” Rocket had said. “Sure if you want to end up dead and probably blow our chance, that’s the way to go. Personally, I like the idea of not having my molecular composition ripped to shreds.”

Thor had stared at Rocket in confusion, but clung to the words in desperation in the aftermath of being refused to be allowed to sacrifice himself. “Do you have a better idea?”

Rocket’s response had come through a sneering grin. “Of course I do.”

”Excuse me,” Tony had asked, voice full of frustration, “when were you planning on letting us in on this stellar plan of yours?”

“Oh silly me - I thought you, as a genius, would know we could just make multiple Gauntlets. What, you really think a stupid snap of the fingers is what those stones are waiting for? It’s all mind stuff. You just gotta live long enough to use them.”

“How can you be sure?” Steve had asked, new hope brimming within him.

”Because I’ve used one before,” Rocket revealed. “Linked hands in friendship and all that bullcrap. Sure, Quill only survived because he was technically half a juiced up cosmic dickhead, but that’s why we’re making these gloves. You put all of them in one, you’re just asking to be turned to jelly.”

Steve had turned to Tony eagerly.“How long would it take to make more?”

Tony had sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Give me a few hours to program the nanites.”

But they hadn’t had a few hours.

Thanos - traveling into their time from the past - had attacked. In the rubble, Bruce had grabbed the Nanogauntlet in time to use it, all but killing himself in the process.

Then the battle had started.

And it’s end...even now, Steve couldn’t recall much beyond the blinding blue light and hands on his shoulders as overwhelming energy coursed through his body. His mind had been completely blank from the pain except for the single thought that he desperately pushed through like a prayer.

In the aftermath, he’d been battered but alive. Everyone on their side had survived, while the opposing army crumbled to dust around them.

The Space Stone and I had...an understanding.

Steve looked down at his unblemished hands, sighed, and grabbed a bottle of shaving cream.

Cooking was already in progress when he came back out. Sam wanted a protein-focused meal before he headed out for his next mission, sausage and egg pie was on the menu, filled with peppers and tomatoes. It looked like Bucky was doing most of the work while Sam gave him instructions from his seat at the table.

“He’s pretty good at breakfast,” Sam explained when Steve took the chair beside him. “Only time I feel like I can trust him not to get overexcited.”

“Well, eggs have been around for a while,” Steve said, pouring himself a glass of juice.

“I tried to teach you how to poach them for weeks,” Bucky said, still staring at the pan on the stove in concentration. “How many days did we end up with simmering egg foam water for breakfast?”

Steve felt that memory come back in a jolt of longing and nostalgia. “I think a lot of the problem was that you only had about a fifty percent success rate yourself.”

Sam jerked his head back, looking between them. “Hold up, you can poach eggs?”

Bucky paused, his brow wrinkling. “I used to be able to,” he said, somewhat awkwardly.

“Okay, well, we’re making Eggs St. Charles the next time I stop by,” Sam said firmly. “You’ve been holding out on me, keeping that a secret.”

“I wasn’t keeping it a secret,” Bucky grumbled, but there wasn’t any real heat to his voice.

“Sounds like we’ll have something to look forward to,” Steve said.

Sam looked at Steve, tilting his head as he glanced over the tank top and loose pants he’d donned. “Planning on turning in soon?”

“Just for a few hours,” Steve said. “If I’m being honest, it feels like I could stay up for a couple more days. It’s not especially physically taxing work to watch Loki.”

“Maybe he’s sucking all the sleep juice out of the air,” Sam suggested. “What exactly are his powers, again?”

“SHIELD made a list of observations when he invaded,” Steve said. “Making things fly through the air at will wasn’t on it. Neither was absorbing sleep juice.”

Sam turned his gaze pointedly to Bucky’s back. “Make sure you keep an eye out for that,” he said jokingly.

“I’m gonna burn your portion on purpose,” Bucky responded, voice flat.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Sam said, getting up and rushing over, putting his hand on Bucky’s forearm to impede his movement.

Steve watched as they bickered back and forth, again finding that he was keeping a careful eye on Bucky’s responses, and again seeing nothing that seemed too out of the ordinary. Sam managed to coax Bucky back from ruining breakfast, if it had ever even been a sincere threat, and Bucky looked satisfied that his point had been made.

After they finished eating, Sam jotted down a few recipes to pin to the fridge. “When Loki’s ready, start him on some steel cut oats and mashed potatoes. If he doesn’t want to eat, just keep to the smoothies.” He looked at Steve. “And make sure you keep track of any preferences.”

Bucky, who was examining the list, turned to Sam with a frown. “What are we supposed to do, measure how hard he cries every time he eats?”

“I was actually thinking you could use words,” Sam said. “I know that’s a difficult concept for you.”

“I’ll ask him,” Steve said, thinking of Loki’s revelation the night before. “I think right now he’s just grateful to have anything.” He turned to look at Loki, who before falling asleep had pulled a section of blanket onto the gel pad and folded it beneath his head like a pillow. “He told me last night he was just stuck floating in space for years after Thanos’s attack.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched as he swore, low and rough. Sam cursed almost in tandem.

“So that might explain the physical deterioration,” Sam said. “You expose a human to enough space radiation at the very least you’re gonna get altered gene expression.”

“He was covered in burns when he came down,” Bucky said, hands opening and closing in a fidget. He looked distinctly uncomfortable. “God, his breathing. The way he can’t get himself up. He didn’t just survive. His goddamn body tried to adapt to it.”

“Now he’s back in a place with gravity,” Sam said grimly, “and it’s not exactly agreeing with him.”

“His body’s trying to reverse the process,” Steve said, thinking about how Loki had even given a bigger effort to keep his own legs beneath him the night before.

“Well, at this point, I think we can safely say that cancer and heart failure aren’t big concerns,” Sam said.

“He told Steve that he didn’t eat or breathe for years,” Bucky said, a sharp edge to his voice. “A lot of fucking things aren’t concerns.”

The time between Loki’s reveal and now didn’t make the situation any less staggeringly terrible to think about. “He’s here,” Steve said. “We’ll do everything we can to get him back into working shape.”

“We don’t have to,” Bucky said, his voice still too strained for calm. “He’s going to take less maintenance than the parsley.”

“So water him as frequently as you do those plants,” Sam said dryly. “Look, I have to head out. Gotta cross a continent. But keep me updated on things here.”

“Let us know if you need any help, too,” Steve said.

“Nuh-uh,” Sam said, holding his hands out palm up. “You’ve got your hands full already. I’ll call in one of the second-rates if I ever need back up. Or Natasha if she’s done with her own vacation into domestic bliss with the Bartons.” He paused. “And I’m not saying I expect them to, but you know if things do go south, you can always get a message out to the king of Asgard.” He looked pointedly to where Loki was sleeping. “She doesn’t deal with much outside of that country but I have a good feeling she’d be willing to deal with this.”

“We’ll keep it in mind,” Steve said.

Sam gave Bucky one last lingering look, then headed out the door.

Bucky stood in silence in the kitchen, staring towards the living room at Loki. He still looked shaken.

Steve frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m…” Bucky pressed his lips together, a muscle jumping in his cheek as he looked briefly towards the front door. “I know it was my turn for a watch...”

Steve shook his head. “Go ahead, Buck. I don’t mind staying up a little longer.”

Bucky nodded sharply, already moving in quick steps to go outside. “Thanks.”

Steve would be lying if he said he felt fine himself. But if what he’d seen back during the invasion and after his return so far was any indication, Loki was strong in a lot of ways that didn’t just have to do with his physical attributes. He’d talked a lot about preferring death, but he seemed like he’d accepted, though reluctantly, that dying wasn’t going to happen. And he was looking towards a future where he would be better than he was now, if in resignation.

Steve could work with that. And even if Loki had been more obviously suicidal, it wouldn’t have changed his mind about that fact.

The sun was starting to peek through the curtains. Steve spread them open so the natural light would come in. He saw Bucky in the garden, crouched next to a trellis and examining the base of a group of vines that stretched up it in a burst of thick leaves. The blade of a knife flashed white in the sunlight before Bucky reached forward and deftly cut free a cucumber that he set in a basket at his side.

Steve stood in the window for a while, and thought about unseen radiation, and again pushed down that coil of frustration that told him that sitting back and watching wasn’t the route.

But he would approach the subject soon. Just right then, he was enjoying the return of the sight of the calm on Bucky’s face too much to ruin it.

Chapter Text

Bucky stared hard at the smoothie list, needing to take a third pass over the words before his brain - perpetually distracted as it was by the curving shadow of Loki’s frail form on the floor - even half-absorbed the instructions. He’d at first thought Sam had just left him some basic ratios, but there was a whole specific order in which he needed to add the ingredients to the blender on top of that. He picked the list off the fridge like looking closer would help the words settle in any better, then flipped it over to see if there was anything on the back.

There was a single blunt sentence, written in large letters and doubly underlined. Don’t overthink it.

Bucky slapped the list back on the fridge, sliding the magnet over it only to belatedly realize he’d used his left hand when the paper fell to floor and he was left with an accessory clinging to his thumb. He worked his jaw and plucked the magnet free - a joke gift from Sam, which read I Cook Because Punching People is Frowned Upon - and picked up the paper to more mindfully replace it.

Bucky reached for a banana, the smooth peel threatening to give under his too-tight grasp. He took a step for the blender, before he turned back at the last second to double check the list again. He knew he’d acknowledged Loki’s indestructibility and lack of need for any kind of expert care beyond caution during physical contact, but he still couldn’t help but feel like he was going to get something incredibly wrong with this process - especially because now Loki would have Sam’s technique to compare it to.

But the alternative was to let Steve do it. And among all the reasons that was a bad idea, Steve was finally getting some rest after Bucky had chickened out of the start to his own watch and left him to look over Loki for a few extra hours.

Loki didn’t need perfect, Bucky told himself as he cut up the banana and tossed it into the pooled almond milk at the bottom of the blender. The fragrance of fresh cut fruit coupled with the sound of some kind of bird lightly scratching across the roof smoothed down some of the sharp edges of his emotions.

The morning had given way to afternoon, and the house was currently flooded with streams of natural light. When he looked out the window above the sink he could see it beaming off of Steve’s Harley in the driveway and the piled metal of the structural supports sitting on the far side of the yard for the frame of the greenhouse he hadn’t gotten around to building just yet.

He stared outside for a minute, then checked the list again. Don’t overthink it, Sam had written, but he’d also put what specifically to add to the smoothie if it came out too bitter (honey or dates or more banana) or too sweet (avocado, lemon, and, bizarrely, banana again), how to fix the consistency if it came out too thick or too thin, and a stern warning to not mix in any red fruits with greens unless he wanted the result to look like brown sludge. That all seemed a bit like overthinking it to Bucky, but what the hell did he know.

He blended the ingredients together, breathing out when it looked fine in terms of color and consistency, and then tasted the result. It was good, for a first attempt, he decided. Not shudder-worthy like Sam’s work, yet fresh and sweet - but not too sweet. He flipped the list up and gave the now upside down Don’t overthink it note one last glance and then poured the drink out into two bottles, storing one in the fridge for later.

He grabbed a beer and made himself a sandwich before wandering into the living room, not wanting to work over the stove until it wasn’t his watch anymore. Loki was awake - had been awake, Bucky knew, with how long he’d been feeling those prickles run down the back of his neck. The window nearest to him was open, and the sun was at the perfect angle to pour through the screen at nearly full strength and wash directly over most of his long body. He seemed content to just rest there and bask in comfort, staring at the dust motes floating lazily on the air, belly expanding and contracting with his breaths.

Bucky set down the drink next to the pile of padding; slitted eyes of blue cautiously tracked the movement, too zoned-out with relaxation for more than that. Bucky could still hear a vague wheeze when Loki took in air if he concentrated hard enough, but that would probably be all but gone soon. If Loki kept up the routine of caloric intake and what movement he could manage, who knew how much energy he’d have by that time next week. He even looked like he was starting to fill out a little - which didn’t make sense this early on and with how little he’d actually consumed, but it wasn’t the thing about him that made the least sense.

Bucky turned away, taking a seat on the couch, balancing his plate on his lap as he grabbed the remote from the coffee table to turn on the TV. Steve had been watching sports the night before, Bucky noted as he flipped through to see what else was on, about as focused on the actual task as he had been the list on the fridge.

He was ever aware of the fact that Loki hadn’t reached for the drink. Instead he was busily staring at Bucky through his half-lidded eyes, like some kind of lanky, feral, plaid-wearing cat. Bucky managed to ignore the way his skin twitched at that look for a while, before he dropped all pretenses of ignoring him and stared back in resignation.

“I didn’t poison it,” Bucky said, unable to help the defensive tone to his voice.

Loki didn’t respond. Bucky kind of preferred that, but he knew it wasn’t going to last.

“I was told of you,” Loki said less than a minute later, voice faint with uncertainty. He spoke slowly, like he was carefully pulling the memory to the forefront. “Bucky Barnes. Captain America’s childhood friend, the loyal soldier who fell to his death in the midst of battle.”

Great. “Don’t know what that information helped you with,” Bucky said flatly.

“It did not help with anything,” Loki admitted. Bucky felt a part of himself loosen with relief. “It was considered of possible use, but ultimately went unneeded. Still…” Loki gave him a pointed, if tired, once over, his skin glowing white in the shine of the sun. “You are clearly not dead.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, taking a swig of his beer. “Lot of that going around.” He went back to switching channels, wishing he could go out to the yard and see if the next batch of radishes was ready yet. He’d forgotten to check them that morning. “And I’m not interested.”

Loki blinked, forehead pinching. “Pardon?”

Bucky exhaled roughly. “You’re fishing for a story, and I don’t want to talk about it.” He took a bite of his sandwich for emphasis, turning most of his attention more solidly to the television. By appearances, anyway. He didn’t think he could actually physically ignore Loki very well.

Loki was quiet only for a few seconds before he spoke again. “I could ask Captain Rogers,” he said, like the words were a threat, but the intensity of it was dimmed by the way he was clearly bodily bracing himself for an unpleasant response. “He would probably be much more forthcoming.”

Bucky paused, taking in Loki’s limp, curled hand, the way his face was still half-pressed into the blankets beneath him because he either didn’t want to expend the strength to push himself up or he was intentionally keeping himself a lower target.

He didn’t wonder what it was about him that made Loki seem to want to get under his skin. It wasn’t going to work, though, just like it hadn’t worked the last time they’d talked. And definitely not when they both knew all it would take was a single haphazard blow to neutralize him permanently.

Bucky chewed, swallowed, and shrugged, looking Loki in the eye again. “Go ahead.”

Loki’s mouth dropped like he was going to respond, and then closed, his jaw working in irritation. Bucky wasn’t giving Loki any kind of bluff - he really didn’t care all that much if he asked Steve about his history. As long as he didn’t have to go into it himself.

The last time they’d talked one on one, Loki had been distinctly less friendly, fresh off the damage Bucky had given him and prodding the lingering possibility of danger. That wasn’t quite what he was doing this time. He seemed genuinely interested in Bucky. Which, yeah, floating through space for years didn’t give someone a whole lot of options for mental recreation, but… Bucky got the distinct feeling it wasn’t just about that. Maybe asking Loki for confirmation of what exactly he was doing would make some of that feeling ease, but Bucky didn’t want to give him any invitation to pursue a line of questioning.

They knew about as much as they needed to know about each other. The only thing Bucky was going to do now was - reluctantly - help Steve get Loki better, and then either Loki would leave, or…

He would leave. Bucky was at least a lot more confident in that scenario now that he had a better idea of what Loki had survived. Now that he was at least somewhat entertaining the thought that they weren’t going to have to kill him to keep him from trying to kill them.

Bucky glanced down at the untouched smoothie, using his tongue to work a piece of bread off of a back molar. “You should drink that before the fruit starts to spoil.”

Loki looked taken aback, then his face colored with that same frustration he’d shown when Bucky had refused to tell him more than his name. His hair was really starting to become a fucking mess, haloing his face with black tangles.

Loki finally gave up on that narrow-eyed gaze, letting it fall to the bottle in front of him and ridding Bucky of some of that tingling sensation. He started to laboriously push himself up, curling his long legs beneath him for support, still looking distinctly unhappy. He gave the drink a lingering look of consideration, eyes flicking back to Bucky’s face for a moment, before he took it and set his lips to the straw.

Bucky pretended not to care, but he still noted that Loki drank it down with the exact same gusto he had Sam’s.

Taking Loki to the bathroom didn’t go half as well. Even specifically bracing his frail body on the side with his flesh arm and doing everything he could to stay gentle, Bucky left marks and felt bones creak.

Loki shivered and took in sharp breaths of pain, but he didn’t protest or try to pull away, and he didn’t use his magic to defend himself. He just grit his teeth and fought gravity as he doggedly moved forward on stumbling legs.

In the process, his arm mottled up badly with bruises and swelling. After he was done relieving himself Loki pulled up the shirt to check the new marks running down his ribcage and abdomen, lips pursed in vexation at the spread of pooling contusions.

At that point, Bucky decided he’d rather wake Steve for the return trip so he could bow out rather than cause any more damage.

“Where are you going?” Loki snapped when Bucky had only managed a few steps, a hint of almost-panic in his voice.

Reluctantly, Bucky paused, the distant sound of cracking bones echoing around in his head. “I’m hurting you.”

Loki’s tone went dry as dust. “And you are surprised by that.”

“No,” Bucky said, wondering why he was even bothering to engage in this conversation. “But Steve would hurt you less.”

“If I may offer a counterpoint,” Loki breathed, the strain building in his voice. “The additional damage I take while remaining here to await your return will be greater than whatever you personally cause by simply assisting me yourself.”

Bucky hadn’t thought of that. He looked down at his hands for a minute, grinding his teeth, then determinedly stalked back over to Loki. He helped him up and ignored the way he grunted and gasped and shivered all over again. He leaned into Bucky hard, unable to take as much of his own weight, tremors of fatigue wracking him. Bucky kept them in contact for a few seconds longer as reached out a boot to shift Loki’s floor nest closer to the window now that the sun wasn’t actively beaming through it. It would give him a better view of the sky. Then he crouched and braced Loki with his flesh hand as he slid from the supportive brace of Bucky’s body and down to the waiting nest of padding.

Loki laid on his back on the bedding, gasping in relief and exhaustion, eyes rimmed with red as he stared up at Bucky, the rest of his expression closed-off. “Thank you,” he said, and to Bucky’s surprise the words sounded genuine.

“You’re welcome,” Bucky responded, heaving a sigh as he begrudgingly lessened his tension. “Anything broken?” Even though Loki could heal and he’d prefer to stay ignorant, he still didn’t want to risk any secondary injuries cropping up unnoticed.

Loki pressed his lips together, still breathing heavily through his nostrils, and pulled his shirt up again to tentatively probe long fingers at his purpling ribs. Bucky got visual confirmation that there were indeed the scarcest hints of building muscle starting in over the lines of bone that pushed against skin. However Loki’s body processed food, it was incredibly efficient.

Loki let his shirt fall back down, his hand flopping down at his side. “My sincerest congratulations on successfully reining in your brutality.”

So that seemed to be a no. Bucky snorted, shaking his head in disbelief, grateful to catch a break and all too eager to go back to sitting in awkward silence in front of the television.

But then Loki spoke again, his words faint like a drifting breeze. “It’s somewhat limited to the left arm, then.”

Shock jackknifed through Bucky, sending him stiffening with a jolt. “What?” His own voice was hoarse in his ears.

Loki - conveniently, of course - had lost consciousness, head lolling at a slight angle. His arms were splayed out with palms up, a slough of fresh injuries rapidly darkening on the one he’d slung over Bucky to support himself.

Bucky stood over him, clenching and unclenching his fists, lips parted as his thoughts raced. He sat down at some point without really noticing, heavily sinking into a slouch on the firm couch cushions, still staring.

Loki stayed stubbornly asleep.

In the well of his memories, a shouted phrase had joined the sound of fracturing bones.

“Hey - gun guy! Use the metal arm!”

He needed another beer.

Chapter Text

The battlefield was shrouded in blinding radiation.

Bucky could barely breathe. His body felt locked up, ready to burst. His pulse pounded in tandem with a dozen other hearts.

Blood stained the grooves of his metal hand, dotting the ground beside his knees in pattering splashes.

A shuddering, agonized breath rushed over his face.

“What did you do?”

There were no significant residual issues detected by my scans. Has something new come up?

Bucky stared down at his phone. He reread Shuri’s message again and again just like he had the smoothie list earlier, as if the repetition would be of any help. Unfortunately, each time he did, his eyes insisted on drifting over to Loki right after.

He looked as peaceful as Bucky had ever seen him, even with the new marks on his skin. Part of it might have been that the clothes Steve had picked out were a lot more complimentary to his frame and coloring than Bucky’s, but it looked like he was starting to get a hint of color back that wasn’t just caused by ruptured blood vessels.

His proximity was still making Bucky’s hackles respond. His vibranium arm felt like it was tingling, too, which meant he got to wonder if the sensation was actually from Loki or just a product of his own racing thoughts.

Maybe it would be expedient to move him back to the basement in case of any possible further destruction.

“It’s somewhat limited to the left arm, then.”

And what the hell had that meant? Or did it even mean anything at all, coming from an unstable alien who’d spent years floating through space until his body and brain ate itself alive just to keep him going?

Loki had known Steve was the last one to touch the stones. There was no denying that his senses were keener than most things that were alive on Earth. It had probably made it that much worse for him to be trapped so long in space with nothing. Not that there was much further for that bar to fall.

At some point torture was just torture. The degrees didn’t matter that much.

Shuri’s next message pinged before Bucky could get it together and respond to the first one. If you are concerned, you should visit.

Bucky tapped at his thigh, unable to keep from rolling his shoulder for what was the fourth time in the last two minutes. He ground his teeth and forced himself to quickly type out a response.

Can’t. It’s the height of summer and I’ll lose everything I’m growing for the fall. Which was the poorest fucking excuse this side of Siberia, but I’m busy babysitting a former alien terrorist with Steve and would really appreciate if you would just do me a favor and keep it a secret because that wouldn’t exactly be a charitable mark on my stellar legal record wasn’t exactly better.

Another ping.

Then I can send some notes to Stark.

Bucky panicked, rising from the couch and activating the call function, double checking Loki was still out - and why the hell did it feel like the air around him was shuddering - before peering down the hall to make sure the guest room door was still closed.

The line connected while he was moving to the living room windows to instinctively make sure there were no intruders in the yard. “Don’t talk to Stark,” he said, voice as quiet as he could manage.

“Bucky,” Shuri said, confused and exasperated and already sounding suspicious. “Why did you contact me? Do you need help or not?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky said, pulling the curtains closed when he saw it was all clear. He started grabbing the lanterns to put in place around Loki to occupy himself, staring intently at the slack, pale face for any signs of consciousness. “I thought I was fine.”

“The radiation damage you sustained was minimal and your cells recovered well. The only person who has received major permanent injuries from coming into contact with the energy from any of the stones is Stark.”

“That’s why I don’t want you to bother him,” Bucky said, throat tightening as he switched the lanterns on. “He’s done enough.”

“So what you are doing is propositioning a possible problem but not giving me anything properly descriptive to work with to solve it.”

Bucky winced, roughly sitting back on his heels. “Yeah.”

She didn’t complain, or tell him he was being stupid. Instead, he heard a shifting noise and some beeping on her end. “What exactly is your concern? Are you having pain?”

“No.”

“The arm is functioning as expected?”

Bucky rolled his shoulder for a fifth time, hard enough that he felt the twinges where metal met bone and muscle and skin. “Perfect as always.”

“So if it is not physical, and it is not mechanical…”

“It’s mental,” Bucky concluded, running his hand through his hair as he lurched to his feet and started to pace. “I’m going crazier.”

Shuri laughed, a short sharp giggle bursting over the line. “Bast, that was not what I was going to say.”

Bucky couldn’t help but let a little of her good humor chase away some of the sick feeling that had bubbled inside of him. He wet his lips, surprised when his voice managed to come out steady. “Bet you were thinking it. You were the one who had to go digging around in there.”

“Which is why I am telling you that if there is no change since we last met, then you have nothing to worry about.”

“Okay,” Bucky said.

He told himself that this was the woman - genius, compassionate, and kind - who had done the impossible. She’d taken the Red Book and used it not to control him, but to free his mind.

Without breaking it down any more than it already had been.

She deserved what crumbs of faith he could manage to cobble together. “I believe you.”

“Good,” she said. “Now let me walk you through some basic troubleshooting.”

Bucky was off the phone and back in the kitchen not long after that.

He hadn’t wanted to be too far from Loki while he was regaining strength so quickly and consistently. After the talk with Shuri had soothed some of his concerns, he was becoming more and more sure that what he was feeling around Loki was a sign of some kind of power. But he needed to do something with his hands and his focus before he started sliding back into second guessing himself. Move away from the moment rather than stagnate in it.

Starting his task off by accidentally shattering a beer bottle on his way to throw it in the recycling hadn’t helped. It had been glass, tinkling, musical, the shards shooting across the ground extending the sound as much as the original break. That didn’t stop his head from equating it to something a lot more organic.

He briskly swept the shards before putting one of Sam’s pre-made meals in the oven, aided by instructions laid out on the foil in bright orange masking tape. It wasn’t long before the aroma of tomatoes and garlic fell over the entire house like a cloud.

He was in the process of chopping up vegetables for a radish-less salad when he heard the guest room door open and the firm tread of Steve’s footsteps coming down the hallway.

“That smells amazing,” Steve said as he rounded the corner. He paused as he noticed the half dozen empty beer bottles that still lined the counter, a gathered glass audience to Bucky’s stilted attempts to reclaim his calm.

Steve raised his eyebrows, and Bucky ignored the look while doggedly keeping to his task - it wasn’t like he was in any danger of getting drunk. Unfortunately.

“Sleep okay?” Bucky asked, trying to emphasize his mask of nonchalance. He stopped mid-chop when, instead of answering, Steve reached down towards the floor.

There was a thick shard of broken glass carefully pinched between his fingers when he came back up; it must have fallen beneath the counter just out of Bucky’s angle of sight. Steve straightened, putting his foot on the nearby trash can pedal, and gave himself a nice view of all the other glass shards as he dropped it in. Then he looked back up, all disarming blue-eyed concern and pursed lips, and Bucky went back to chopping.

“I’m fine,” Bucky said, a little tensely, which was a complete giveaway and he knew it. His jacket felt tight over his shoulders, and one of the locks of his hair that had escaped the tie was trying to make its way into his mouth. He irritably brushed it back behind his ear.

“I wasn’t saying otherwise,” Steve said, unwaveringly calm.

He clearly wasn’t buying it. If they’d been risking life and limb, trying to save the world, Steve would have put the subject aside for the greater good, and come back around to it when they had a break. The only theoretical greater good at the moment was passed out on the living room floor after all but revealing that it didn’t really matter how much Bucky said or didn’t say.

“Need any help?” Steve’s voice had lost some of its caution and gone brighter. Giving. Worse than that was the hint of understanding.

Bucky had heard a dozen variations of that tone from Steve ever since they’d reunited in the new millenium. It had chipped away at decades of brainwashing until it had broken through them for good like the snap of a branch. And now, like then, it felt like it was flooding his guts with ice water.

Had Loki already said something to Steve before he’d even said anything to Bucky?

“With dinner, no,” Bucky said, a little too sharply. At Steve’s quickly forming frown, he shook his head. “Sam did most of the work already.” He looked sidelong at Steve’s outfit - it was a simple cotton shirt and jeans, and maybe Steve had joked about Bucky’s clothes being a rough fit, but judging from the fact that he could see every line of muscle pressed into the fabric that top looked like it was a size even smaller than what Bucky normally wore. “Anyway, you’re wearing white. That’s not the best wardrobe for the kitchen.”

Steve was still frowning, and it only deepened as he bent down, gingerly grasping at another piece of brown, shattered glass. It met the same fate as the last one, clunked into the bin. Bucky had really done a terrible job of cleaning that up.

Steve looked up, eyes crinkling with stubborn cheeriness. “Well, next time I’m out, I’ll be sure to pick up an apron.”

Bucky’s shoulders slumped; he wanted to stay angry rather than the other option, but he knew Steve didn’t deserve that kind of heat. “You can find something for us to watch,” he said, like a compromise. His voice was still coming out a little too terse, so he went on to make up for it. “One of those movies you got in that notebook. I’ll be done in twenty.”

As if on cue, the cooking timer beeped. Bucky twisted his head around in frustration as he looked for the oven mit - he never put the damn thing in its proper place. As the seconds passed he could feel the burgeoning risk of this threatening to be the one straw too many, so he gave up on the search and just used the metal arm to pull out the hot pan.

Steve folded his arms, still standing by the fridge, watching it all go down. “So I take it I shouldn’t set the table.”

“Not tonight,” Bucky said, resolutely grabbing some tongs and portioning out the salad on the plates.

If they set the table then Bucky would have to sit there and stare at Steve with his skin feeling like it was encrusted in mud. He’d have no excuse not to talk unless he wanted to obviously be rude. Ruder. Steve would keep being nice about it, probably, but judging from what was happening now, that wouldn’t make Bucky feel much less awful. Which was probably only going to make him even angrier.

Steve reached over and grasped at Bucky’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “Sounds good. I’ll be right back with the list.”

By the time Bucky finished up and brought the plates into the living room, Steve was sitting on the couch in a relaxed posture, hands on his thighs as he looked down at Loki. “He woke up on your watch,” he deduced.

Bucky glanced at Loki, the assorted new bruises from earlier already gone from deep purple to a faded yellow. That weird sensation in the air from before was still happening, but Steve didn’t seem concerned.

“His sleeping pattern’s normalizing,” Bucky said, handing over a plate. “I got another couple of smoothies into him before he went out again. Tried to balance out the nutrients, for whatever that’s worth. And I made sure he was in full sun for as much as possible.”

Steve glanced sharply down at his dinner, eyebrows raised and lips twitching in that way that meant he found something humorous but wasn’t going to say what it was.

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“Nothing,” Steve said, forehead creasing in mock seriousness. “Did you check him for aphids?”

Bucky got it a second later. He swore under his breath. “I’m treating him like a goddamn plant.”

“Sam did try to tell you.” Steve said with a jerk of his shoulders. “Though to be fair, light was the first thing Loki did ask for.”

Bucky scowled, looking at the way he’d angled Loki’s position near the window, and the lit lanterns grouped around him. “Photosynthesis would explain a lot,” he said.

Steve jerked his head in a considering motion. “Another thing I think we can safely say isn’t on the list of abilities.”

“He might as well for how badly he reacts to anything less than direct shine,” Bucky insisted. He settled onto the couch, reaching for his fourteenth beer of the night, sorely wishing it would actually have any kind of effect. “So what are we watching?”

“Star Wars,” Steve said. “There’s a few movies.”

Bucky frowned with his lips around the bottle, quickly swallowing as he pulled it away. “Isn’t that one already crossed off in your book?”

“Yeah, but it’s been about a decade since I’ve seen them. I could use the refresh.”

Bucky sighed grimly. “Right.” Sometimes he forgot about all the time lost in between battles. Steve had probably already crossed off everything he’d had in that notebook and more. Bucky lifted his beer closer to his mouth, preparing for another swig. “You sure you don’t wanna pick something new?”

Steve clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Ah, it’ll be new if I watch it with you.”

Bucky almost choked on his beer mid-swallow, coughed twice to clear his airways, then gave Steve a forbidding look that Steve just brushed off as he patted Bucky’s shoulder firmly with a grin. “That was awful,” Bucky said, ignoring the way his face was heating as he gestured towards the TV with his beer and another cough. “Hurry up and put it on before you get the urge to say anything else.”

Steve did, still smirking, and once Bucky was done half-choking he settled in to food and drink as the movie started to play.

Bucky hadn’t seen many movies since the 40s. There’d been a few with Sam, when Steve had disappeared after returning the stones and Bucky had found himself in possession of a house and true downtime for the first time since his brief stay in Wakanda.

Sam liked to openly snark, criticize, or praise scenes as they happened. The behavior had irritated Bucky a lot at first because he’d been trying to pay attention to the dialogue and plot and didn’t appreciate the interruption, but it hadn’t been very long before he’d started snarking right alongside him.

Sam had also insisted on watching movies at night and having all of the lights off to enhance the experience. That was obviously a no go with Loki in the room.

It meant that as the movie began, it was more than light enough for him to tell that Steve was paying about as much attention to Bucky as he did to the television. Which in turn made Bucky pay more attention to Steve than the movie, even if he carefully didn’t look directly at him. He missed more of the plot from that than he would have if he’d had Sam’s exclamatory nitpicking as a distraction.

Bucky ruthlessly didn’t comment on it, waiting in heavy caution for something to happen. Steve stayed silent and still, his body loose and relaxed, even though he tried to make eye contact with Bucky about a dozen times and Bucky felt that tiny bloom of frustration he’d been relentlessly beating back start to take hold in earnest. It wasn’t like Steve to be coy and quiet. If he wanted something from Bucky, usually he’d just confront him about it. Talk it out. Barrel through.

Bucky wanted to watch the movie. It was interesting. He thought he might even like it, even though he’d technically already personally participated in something that could be considered a star war, with giant spaceships and aliens and sorcerers and everything in between.

But something was going on with Steve, and he didn’t know what. And the longer it went on, the more he lost his conviction and started to think that maybe he was the one who was going to break and ruin the silence.

It didn’t end up being him.

Or Steve.

It was Loki, arching up with a scream just as every light bulb and lantern in the living room shattered and the coffee table went sailing into the TV.

Chapter Text

Loki was gasping, his eyes clamped shut and his breaths loud in his own ears, coming too hard and too fast for the air to properly suffuse his lungs with the oxygen they needed. The panic was choking him, each searing attempt at inhalation made that much more difficult, until he registered another sense beyond that of his primal struggle to breathe.

A scent. Fulsome and savory - a tang bordered by generous spices and the sharpness of alcohol, somehow penetrating through with enough strength that it jarred him from his terror and into the further clarity of consciousness with a vicious clench of his stomach.

He had seen the stars, but he was not adrift. He was upon a hard surface that rigidly pushed bone into weakened flesh and sent fresh blooms of hurt into his thin skin with every movement. The warmth of a presence hovered over his body. Voices filled the air, thick with agitation, making his heart leap into his throat as he uselessly attempted to cringe away.

“-ten feet away from you.”

“Loki, it’s all right, you’re okay. Don’t move. The edge of the couch is right there.”

“I knew I should have put him back in the basement.”

“He didn’t mean to do it.”

“What he meant to do was come to you, Steve. He accomplished that. Along with breaking every damn light we put out for him.”

What?

He opened his eyes to the dark.

Somehow he managed to close his throat to the scream that wanted to rise, even as his hands scrabbled for purchase, jolted further as he felt empty air to his left and the promise of a drop. The noise he made instead was low, dragged from the depths of his horror. His magic, when he tried to call it forth, was drained. Emptied from what he’d blindly demanded of it before waking.

“Guess you’re not a fan of Star Wars,” a dry voice commented. “A movie about space, jesus, we’re a couple of idiots.” There was a low curse, followed by the sounds of fumbling. “At least the phone from Stark still works.”

Light flashed in a white beam, glorious and steady. It was brought near him, until his eyes watered with his determination to look directly at it. He grasped at it without hesitation, cradling it closer as his thoughts came back from mindlessness.

He could now see that it was Rogers who hovered over him, dimly illuminated, hands outstretched and ready to steady him. “Loki, do you know where you are?”

In the dark, he thought. He could feel the night around him, made all the more stark now that he held brightness in his grasp. There would be more shadows awaiting him outside. A pitiless vacuum.

Another sound broke free from his throat as his fear crested once more. He was trembling. Something warm and wet was running down his cheek.

A gruff and grunted statement came from the other side of Rogers. “Thor’s alive.”

Oh.

The words summoned his childish desire in an instant, dampening the edge of his terror, allowing his strained breaths to begin to even out.

What he wouldn’t give at that moment to see the flash of a lightning strike. Alive, he thought, throat tightening and threatening to send him into another spiral of suffocation. But where? I am too weak to find you, you fool. Why would you leave this world that you so proclaimed to love?

To keep himself from sliding back, he traced the smooth object in his hands, mindful to keep from disrupting the source of the glow. He felt the remnants of the traces of the Infinity Stones at his side, imbued into Rogers, and the ever increasing ache in his hip and shoulder. The lingering scent of food was yet on the air, sending his starved stomach rumbling plaintively. He tried to focus on each of these sensations, and further separate himself from the dark that encroached at the edges.

“Loki,” Rogers tried again, voice firm and unyielding in its demand for a response. “Are you with us?”

In lieu of answering, Loki asked, “How long until sunrise?” His voice was nothing more than a tremulous whisper.

It was Barnes who bluntly responded. “Hours. You picked an awful time to wake up.”

Loki could not agree more. He took in a stuttering breath, crowding the beam closer to his face until it blazed a kaleidoscope of color into his stinging eyes. “Is this the only light left?”

“Steve has another phone,” Barnes said, his silhouette a barely-formed shadow in the background. “But that’s all there’ll be if I can’t reset the power.” Loki saw the light play across reflective metal fingers as he rose from the couch.

Rogers twisted his neck to look back in the dark. “If it doesn’t, I can bring my motorcycle to the front of the house. We could shine the headlights through a window. Or maybe leave the front door open.”

“God,” Barnes said under his breath, heavy with displeasure. “Sure, why not? There’s already a destructive teleporting alien in the house. What’s a few hundred bugs on top of that?” Footsteps ventured away, accompanied with a thick crunching noise and a sharp sigh. “Don’t let him down. There’s glass everywhere again.”

A door opened, then shut. Loki became keenly aware that beyond his body’s pained response to the firmness of the surface beneath him, he was pressed against Rogers as well, the man’s body so still that he had not immediately noticed beyond his more immediate worries.

And Rogers looked so concerned, although somehow, it seemed, not specifically with the fact that Loki had unwittingly lashed out with his magic yet again. “Can I help you sit up?”

Loki tensed with the expectation of pain, his usual refusal rising in his throat only to fade unreleased.

He did want to sit up. He also wished to go untouched, but there was no chance he would be able to perform the former action by himself while he clutched at the light.

He wanted to close his eyes in resignation; he didn’t dare. “Yes,” he answered, readying himself.

Warm hands pressed into his bare skin and he shivered harder, grimacing as the pressure built as he was lifted, then gently set against the back of the couch to provide a more even support for his weakened body.

“Thank you,” Loki said, feeling the echoes of the touch like brands against his skin. He shivered again, his nerves swirling, a subtle heat radiating down his very spine. Not pain.

“It’s going to be okay,” Rogers said, and his voice, too, seemed to enhance that warmth.

“Is it,” Loki said, wishing that staring directly into the light did not make everything around him darker by contrast. “I feel as if we have vastly different definitions of the word. And even if it were eventually to miraculously end - now is the problem.”

“You’re on solid ground,” Rogers said. “You just had a bad reaction. You’re in Bucky’s house and you’re sitting on the couch in the living room.”

“Next to an Avenger who enjoys stating the obvious,” Loki could not help but finish.

“Right,” Rogers said, still frustratingly unbothered. “Like about the fact that it’s going to be okay.”

Loki actually braved the dark to send a glare at the purveyor of relentless optimism at his side. He reset his gaze downward just as quickly, though his frustration and fear were somehow beginning to settle.

The shadows around him did not mean the absence of air. Gravity was bearing down on him, holding him in a place of life. Even in the dark it was obvious that this was not the endlessness of space.

But his wretched mind refused to heed logic and insisted on continuing its frantic loops, unable to tear itself from the habits of years and years and the concept that it would no longer be served by desperate panic and in fact such a reaction was now detrimental.
He was already in debt, his position precarious. He had tried to prove himself to be as little bother as possible while still accepting the assistance that would encourage his body to move beyond the weakened bag of flesh to which it had been reduced. But again he had caused damage and an obvious strain at the forbearance of his caretakers.

There was an audible clicking noise somewhere on the other side of the room that drew his attention from his anxious thoughts. A low hum followed it, along with distant, green blinking numbers. The electronic devices on the far side of the house were reactivating.

Barnes returned soon after.

“The fridge and microwave came back on,” Rogers said, voice matter of fact. “None of the lights.”

A low grunt answered him, before footsteps left the room and traveled down the hall, opening and closing doors. Loki cradled the phone in his hands, wincing with every slam while at the same time wishing they were louder.

“I’ve got a light,” Barnes called from across the house. “Looks like it’s the only one left until we pick up more bulbs.” Loki heard the steady steps as he ventured back in, encroaching with the scent of alcohol and mint and the vestiges of the cool night air still wreathed about him. He reached for the floor and roughly shook out the padding that Loki had previously slept on. “I’ll get it set up. You deal with him.”

Loki sat quietly, listening to the quick steps as Barnes left, a niggling wariness filling him at the continued ill mood the man was presenting - and confusion that it did not entirely seem to be aimed at him.

“Ready to move?” Rogers asked, and though Loki carefully listened for it he could hear no building reprimand or disapproval in that tone, either.

He exhaled heavily, then gave a sharp nod. His breath tightened in his lungs as large hands grasped him and assisted him off the couch, a forearm hooking beneath his knees to keep him from the risk of shards that broke beneath Rogers’s steps in the dark. Loki could already see the distant glow filtering down the hallway, drawing his eyes like a moth despite the beam in his hands.

As they came to the light-filled room, however, Rogers hesitated in the doorway. “Buck…”

“It’s the best option,” Barnes responded, low and rough as he adjusted the padding on the ground. There was a cloth bag with straps at his side on the floor, stretched nearly to bursting with unseen contents. “He hit everything else up here and I haven’t finished cleaning up the basement. Unless you want to drag him to the garage and make it about four times the distance to the nearest bathroom. Not like I was going to be sleeping tonight.”

It was Barnes’s room, Loki realized as he took in the space. With pale curtains drawn shut between pastel green walls and a bed bare but for a sheet and a single pillow. A small set of shelving sat against the wall, half-filled with books, and a large rug of gold and blue resting on the ground, upon which Loki’s own bedding had been placed.

Barnes looked up at them, and Loki saw the jagged line of a deep cut on his upper cheek, flesh parted and the wound between a rich red. It was not actively bleeding any longer, but it stood an angry contrast to his staring blue eyes and the shadowed furrows of lines on his brow.

“Hurry up and set him down before you cause more damage,” Barnes said with impatience, moving forward to assist - though only with his right hand, Loki noted, before the additional touch and bracketing bodies stole his breath.

Once on the ground, Loki stared up at the single light on the wall as his flesh tingled. His metal-armed caretaker vacated the room, returning with a pair of bottles that he set down within Loki’s reach.

“Thank you,” Loki murmured. He was still battling the latent trembling from his residual panic, and the wrong footedness that stemmed from a lack of punishment or so much as a yell for his disruptive actions.

“Don’t mention it,” Barnes said, with a sharp emphasis that drew Loki’s eye. His nostrils flared in a sigh, before he turned back to Rogers. “I need to go water the plants.” He didn’t move for a second longer, looking like he was considering what else to say, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “Thanks for the movie,” was all that came out, before he grasped at the bag on the floor and slipped away in a rush.

Rogers watched him as he made his exit, looking troubled. Loki attempted to rise, managing to make it up onto a straining forearm, which shook so hard it threatened to unbalance him as soon as he was up.

“You are fighting with your friend,” Loki said, his tone carefully moderated.

Rogers glanced at Loki in surprise and confusion, brow drawing low. He took a few steps to the bed beside Loki, lowering himself down within his line of sight, folding his arms across his chest firmly enough that Loki could see the cording muscles stand out in sharp relief. “I’m not fighting with Bucky.”

Loki reached for one of the drinks set next to him, noting in relief that the weight of it was easier to manage than it had been during his previous awakenings. He was still far too weak, and the hunger inside of him only seemed to grow more ravenous each time he felt it, but he knew the latter was a sign of his body’s more efficient mending.

He took several long pulls on the straw, shuddering as he filled some of the gaping emptiness inside of him, his eyes stinging with the desperate gratitude that yet insisted on welling up. The action also served to give him a few extra moments to consider and discard the risks of pursuing such a conversation.

When he was done, he gazed at Rogers again. “So he is fighting with you, but you are unaware of it.”

The look of displeasure on Rogers’s face was growing. Either he was truly obtuse or he was deliberately refusing to accept Loki’s words.

“He likes gardening,” Rogers said, as if Loki was the one who required an explanation. “It helps him relax.”

Loki made a noncommittal noise, taking another several gulps of his meal instead of responding. Relaxed was not a descriptor he would readily apply to his metal-armed caretaker, for all his slouched postures and quiet tones.

At least he had discerned that the current ill will in the air was not fully directed towards him just yet. Somehow. Bafflingly, even as the mark on Barnes’s cheek stood out clearly in his mind.

“Don’t worry about Bucky,” Rogers said, looking back to the door, the stalwart line of his unblemished jaw working. “He knows it wasn’t on purpose.”

Loki wondered if it would ever cease to be a surprise that the words were being spoken with genuine intent to reassure him. “Another Avenger with a complicated history, I assume. Exactly how many of you are there now?”

“I haven’t kept count,” Rogers said with some humor as Loki lifted the bottle to his lips. “Enough to stand against Thanos, that’s for sure.”

The instinctive dread at the mention of Thanos competed with the knowledge that the words meant there would be more than enough heroes to stand against Loki. How fortunate that he would only need to directly contend with two. For the moment, at least.

He finished his drink, too soon, the ache of hunger inside of him barely sated. He reached for the second bottle next, knowing it to be only water but hoping it would fool his body into subsiding.

After downing a third of the container, Loki took a moment to gasp for air. His stomach, regrettably, seemed intent on its plaintive ache for more. “He said that this was his house. The other night.”

“It is,” Rogers responded.

“And you…”

“Visiting. For an extended period, now that you’re here.”

“You trade my care in shifts.”

“We didn’t want you waking up alone in case you needed help.”

“So when he looks after me on his own, he is unable to perform the activities that bring him peace. And has now even put me in his place of rest.”

Rogers shook his head, staring more firmly at Loki. “I told you not to worry,” he said, ever more insistent. “He’s only doing this because he wants to.”

Loki took that information in, and placed it over the image of Rogers and Barnes standing stiffly side by side, tension thick in the air between them as they stared at each other without speaking. He would need to work carefully in his further steps to gain more knowledge.

When the second bottle was emptied, he found Rogers face softening as he watched him with something like growing approval. “We were thinking about moving you onto solid food soon. Do you think you’d be up for it?”

He spoke as if it was an arduous task he was coaxing Loki to attempt - Loki the soldier and his own body the war. Not an incorrect viewpoint, but Rogers was unaware that Loki did not require so much of a boosting of morale in that area. The simple mention of the idea had Loki’s stomach communicating that it was all too willing to urge him to dig himself deeper into a debt that he would have next to no ability to settle at any time in the near future.

He wet his lips, dipping his head as he withstood the raw ache in his abdomen, knowing he must look as desperate as he felt. “I suppose we can only hope.”

Chapter Text

Loki suffered through another dreadful night more or less mentally intact.

The food helped immensely. Consuming anything, though still a physical struggle, felt glorious and rare after so many years of abstinence.

Rogers had apologized in advance of the meal, its preparation made more difficult by the fact that his only light source had been the beam from his phone. And indeed the food Loki had been offered had appeared far less than appetizing, even and especially as he realized it closely resembled the gruel he’d been served during his stay in the dungeons on Asgard after his attack on Earth.

He’d wondered if the food was a subtle indication of his position within the household - he’d yet to see any of the others partake in anything of its like. A prisoner’s rations.

But as he’d eaten, the sparks of reward in his mind for fulfilling such a basic need, coupled with the fullness in his belly and even the discomfort that came after, were all welcome distractions. He could practically feel his body eagerly taking the energy it was given and putting it to desperate use, allowing the hollow sputters of his magic to tentatively begin their reformation.

Rogers remained with him in the lighted room, sitting upon the bed with his drawings, a calm presence and a ready hand should any assistance be needed. He’d seemed comforted by the fact that Loki had managed to eat the food he’d offered, eyebrows creasing and lips pulling into a half smile when Loki admitted what nausea he felt in the aftermath would not lead to him losing his meal.

And Loki, not long ago so completely certain that he had only been released from one doom to simply meet another, felt his confusion at such a response linger.

Barnes did not return to the room. Throughout the night Loki heard his quiet tread, often accompanied by glass shards clinking and plastic crinkling, furniture shifting and doors opening and closing. Once, he thought he could hear Barnes speaking to someone, though the words were so faint and distant as to be indiscernible, and no second voice accompanied them.

Rogers, for the most part, stayed quiet. At times Loki would notice him staring at the open doorway to the bedroom, his pencil still in his grasp and frown lines creasing his face. Despite his previous vehement denial of any discordance between him and Barnes, a seed of doubt had been effectively sown.

Would he pay for it, he wondered, but each time Rogers noted Loki’s gaze, the shadows on his brow fled. Instead of looking uncomfortable at being caught or simply withdrawing back to his art, he only - sincerely and softly - checked if Loki required any immediate aid.

Which, while not actively worsening his position, did not precisely make the situation less confusing for Loki.

But with the light of morning, came a further lessening of his lingering dread.

Barnes stopped in briefly an hour or so after dawn, announcing in a clipped voice that he was venturing out for supplies so he could begin efforts to mend the destruction that Loki had caused - again.

The next hours passed uneventfully. Loki knew that his noting of that fact was a testament to his body’s continuous return from absolute survival mode. He cherished the relief of it, spending a considerable amount of time simply allowing himself to stare at the sunlight beaming through pale curtains and feel the warming air, all the while trying not to think of either Rogers or Barnes or the fact that he was so thoroughly trapped by his own weakened flesh.

He did not feel weary enough to sleep again. Which was good, because he wanted to stave off unconsciousness for as long as he could. As far as he was concerned, the less time he spent aware when night fell, the better. And the development of a routine would help him better track those of his caretakers and gain more of an awareness of the patterns in their behaviors.

At least, that was the plan. Not much of one at the moment, but there was little else he could formulate while he was in his current condition.

Rogers was still sitting on the bed. The scrape of his tools against paper were whisper-quiet, giving Loki the sense memory of standing by as Odin’s quill was set upon paper, signing trade agreements and formulating the decrees of Asgard.

That was a complicated recollection. Often it involved Loki respectfully waiting for Odin to finish his work before putting forth whatever inquiry or request he possessed. Sometimes he was successful. Sometimes he was not, including and especially during the occasions Thor burst in with rude confidence and still managed to gain their father’s attention with so much more of an effortless ease.

The frustration that such memories inspired was dull. How young he’d been, to think his life then was rife with any kind of difficulty. He’d been nothing but a sheltered fool.

Now he was here. And Thor was out there, somewhere amongst the stars. Beyond the sun.

He curled his fingers against the blanket beneath him, his thin chest shuddering out a sigh. “I would like to attempt to stand on my own.”

Rogers shifted in surprise; in his periphery Loki saw his blond head jerk up sharply, as if wondering if he’d misheard. “You’re feeling better.”

Loki huffed out a breath, his response of weary disdain kept behind pursing lips. He was unsure which of his caretakers he would have preferred for this activity - the withdrawn and wary aloofness of Barnes seemed just as appealing as the eager but assertive helpfulness of Rogers.

It was irrelevant. Rogers was here, and ongoing refusal on Loki’s part to assist in his own recovery would only continuously delay his ability to better steer whatever this situation would turn out to be.

He levered himself up into a sitting position, glad the bed was near enough that he could use it to balance himself. His back ached, but his lungs filled ably when he took a deeper inhale, a few strands of his unkempt hair clinging annoyingly to his nostrils. He shook his head to dislodge them, and felt his body waver startlingly at the motion, sending his heart pounding viciously as he braced hard against his support so he would not fall.

“I would ask for assistance with the rising,” he said, somehow managing to keep the tremble from his voice. He cast an indirect gaze up towards Rogers. “If I may.”

Rogers gave a small smile, blue eyes crinkling with a softness that matched his voice. “All right.” He set his artistic tools and his book aside, moving from the bed and crouching down beside Loki.

Loki breathed out once more, actively steadying himself. Rogers showed no hesitation, ably grasping Loki’s arm and maneuvering it over his strong shoulder. Loki’s skin sparked and jolted sensations through his spine, but instead of drawing away he forced himself to assist in the grip upon him, all but throwing himself onto Rogers with what limited strength he possessed. Rogers rose, steady and stable as Loki hissed out breaths, already winded from such a simple activity - and more than that, encompassed by an incredible awareness of the warmth pressed against the length of his body. The pain that accompanied it was a double edge, contrasted by the gentle brace of the hand at his side, and a growing hunger in his skin.

He swallowed roughly. This had been a bad idea.

Rogers looked at him sidelong, and when he spoke Loki felt the rumble through his chest. “Any requests for a direction?”

“I will make my own way,” Loki said, perhaps a little too sharply.

Rogers didn’t take offense; he only nodded in return.

Loki was grateful that there was at least one positive to having Rogers over Barnes: he acted less as if Loki was made of glass.

Whether or not Loki was about to prove the truth of that was irrelevant. He ground his teeth, some of his conviction deserting him, and placed a hand against the post of the bed frame. “But - stay close.”

“You can do this,” Rogers said, as if just by saying it such a thing would make it be so.

If Loki had not decided on this course of action himself, he might have been more irritated at that statement.

His legs felt as if they were steady beneath him. He knew that would not last long.

“On the count of three,” he said, stubbornly ignoring his misgivings.

Rogers nodded again.

“One,” Loki breathed. “Two.” He felt the body at his side bunch in readiness. “Three.”

Rogers carefully disengaged from him; the echoes of his firm touch were slower to fade, radiating through nerves, preoccupying Loki even as he stood on his own for the first time in years. He forced himself to focus more fully on his immediate task, taking in a preparatory inhale, fatigue already building at a steady rate in his feeble legs.

He looked towards the window. A modest goal.

Far too gargantuan a goal.

He furiously shoved aside all thoughts of falling.

He kept his eyes on the sunlight.

The first step was awkward; he kept his grip on the bedpost as he carried out the movement. The second step felt jarring - the full weight of gravity bearing down on his limbs. The third, not much better, especially as that was the movement that made him relinquish his hold on the post.

Rogers watched him with a frown, not yet matching his steps because those that Loki had managed to take had not driven him that far out of his reach.

A fourth step, and Loki was nearly halfway across the width of the bed. He was also beginning to actively tremble, and his acknowledgment of that fact brought forth his worry of collapse all the more strongly. He could feel the memory of it, the rush of air that would seem as if it had plunged straight through his stomach, and what would lay beyond it. The dark.

And those thoughts, of course, caused the shuddering of his body to worsen.

But the sun was shining before him, and the window was only a few more steps away. The second bedpost that would support him, sooner than that.

Rogers finally realized his intended target. Instead of waiting behind Loki, he moved slightly before him, as if to provide a further driving force in his progress.

“Only a few more to go,” Rogers said, the phrase gratingly encouraging.

“Will you still be as congratulatory if I faint in the process,” Loki asked, even as the image conjured by his own words sent another terrible jolt of anxiety rushing through him.

Rogers gave the slant of a smile, standing readily. “Sounds like it would be all in a day’s hard work to me.”

Another step. Nausea was clawing up Loki’s throat; his heart pounded with such exertion that his lungs couldn’t move quickly enough to fill. “And if...if when I wake I...destroy another portion of your friend’s house?”

The bedpost was within his grasp, but the next step did not land. Loki’s leg crumpled; Rogers caught him, and before Loki could respond to the return of his blazing touch he found himself hefted and braced against the post he’d been reaching towards. He clawed himself as straight as he could manage, palms flat against his newly offered support as his limbs screeched.

Rogers stepped back again, as casually as he’d come. Loki’s exhale was stilted, his eyes sliding shut as he tried to regain his wavering focus.

“We’ll fix it,” Rogers said from behind him, as steady as ever.

Loki swallowed his building saliva and blinked his eyes open. Only one more step was required to fulfill his arbitrary goal.

He stepped. His hands lashed forward to the lower part of the window’s frame. Warmth spread over his fingers. He could still feel the sections of his body where Rogers had caught him, tingles flaring out like brands against his skin.

Rogers came and stood beside him; he pulled the window’s curtains aside without prompting.

Loki took his first unimpeded look at the world beyond the house.

It was the green that struck him first. All along the ground, richly distributed in the form of dozens upon dozens of full plants spread in rows that had been meticulously and evenly divided across a large swath of land. At points there were structures of wire or wood, cages built to support the flourishing of plants that required something to climb upon, or to encourage the stability of those that would otherwise grow too awkward in their building height. They were bordered by a tall, brown fence, which stretched far enough that Loki could not see all sides of it from his limited range of view from the window.

Beyond that stood all manner of trees, some bearing fruit - others simply standing tall and lush, while the plants that ran along the ground beneath them grew wilder and untamed. In the distance a herd of deer stood, heads bent as they grazed.

A garden, Rogers had said, and Loki had pictured something - small. Manageable. Not this, an expanse that looked like it would have required several of Asgard’s palace servants to adequately tend to it.

“He’s standing up,” a voice behind Loki said, and he was startled enough that he thoughtlessly turned - too quickly - to face it.

His legs crumpled; he gasped, too seized with fright to scream, and only a moment later registered the pain in his arm from Rogers having caught him before he could completely collapse.

“He was standing up,” Barnes corrected, still watching from the doorway, brow furrowing.

Loki’s heart was trying to escape up his throat. He attempted to get his legs back beneath him, but his trembling limbs would no longer cooperate. Gasping, he gave in, letting Rogers support him fully, grinding his teeth as a forearm wrapped more firmly around his midsection. The pain of before was being replaced by something else, something that sent Loki shuddering.

Barnes reached down for the abandoned cushion, dragging it over and dropping it beneath the window. He watched unblinkingly as Loki was lowered upon it, the slice on his cheek from the night before now only a thin, sealed line on his face.

Rogers rose to his full height, looking down at Loki with something like appreciation. “I told you that you could do it,” he said, with not an insubstantial measure of smugness.

Loki rolled his eyes, still too winded for an adequate response, but now he had to at least somewhat agree. If Rogers and Barnes continued to support and provide him with sustenance, his strength would eventually return.

He thought that if he could achieve that, whatever they demanded in the aftermath would be a small price to pay.

“I’ll relieve you,” Barnes said, looking to Rogers. He was holding a drink, Loki realized belatedly. Likely another of the fruit concoctions they had been regularly giving him since he’d arrived. “There’s a project for you in the living room.”

Rogers raised his eyebrows curiously. “A project?”

“Yeah,” Barnes said, his lips a thin, grim line. “Something other than electrical lights. No idea if it’s gonna work.”

“Okay,” Rogers said. A glint stirred in his eyes. “I hope it’s not candles.”

Barnes narrowed his stare at the teasing tone. “Why would I need your help with candles?”

“You would need it after,” Loki said between breaths, drawing both gazes upon him. “Once I accidentally engulfed your entire home in flames.”

Neither of them seemed impressed with Loki’s joke.

“It’s not candles,” Barnes said, voice flat.

Rogers reached out and gave Barnes a spirited pat on the arm. “I’ll go check it out.”

Rogers gave Loki one last assessing look and a nod before he walked out. Barnes stood where he was, the stiff set to his shoulders refusing to loosen.

“So you are keeping your grand plan a secret from me,” Loki said.

“There’s nothing grand about it,” Barnes said. Finally, he bent and deposited the drink beside Loki. “And I’m not going to be surprised if it doesn’t work.”

Now it was Loki’s turn to narrow his eyes. Barnes’s face was drawn, the stubble along his jaw having thickened over the passing days. He appeared otherwise hale and hearty - what troubled him was not something physical.

“Do you expect him to simply know your thoughts,” Loki asked. Barnes would deny him or deflect again, but there were clear undertones of discontent in the way the man carried himself that Loki could not ignore.

Barnes gave him a sharp look, blue eyes as unwavering as a predator, hands curled at his sides. He did not respond.

“He claims you are not angry with him,” Loki said. He thought by now that he almost believed that Barnes had only damaged him by accident during their first interaction. Enough to embolden him to press the subject without too much fear of retaliation.

Barnes’s throat moved in a subtle jerk of a swallow. As Loki suspected, instead of growing aggressive, he only turned away. He took the few steps needed to cross the room, and quietly closed the door.

Then he settled himself on the floor, sitting against the wall with his forearms over his knees. “I told you not to go digging.”

“At your past,” Loki said. “But since I am gifted enough to be involved in your present - your brewing conflict - you cannot exactly fault me for wondering how such development will affect me.”

“There’s no conflict,” Barnes said, working his jaw, his thumbs pressing into their neighboring fingers. Just as adamant as Rogers at maintaining the peace, even as something in him was sure to break it.

“Then is this just how you plan to spend your existence with your companion,” Loki asked. “Your emotions at a constant simmer before they inevitably boil outward.” How familiar Loki was with such a choice.

Barnes went quiet again, a rigidness to his face even as he kept his eyes locked to Loki’s. Evidently he wasn’t interested in continuing that conversation further.

Loki was not surprised by the stonewalling this time, but he was no less frustrated by it. He occupied himself by reaching for the drink at his side; cool condensation had coated its surface in the time he had delayed, transferring to his hand as he gripped it. But the explosion of sweet across his tongue, coupled with the intake of yet more sustenance, helped to greatly raise his mood.

Barnes watched him drink, as if he had nothing better to do. Which reminded Loki abruptly of the sight he’d seen beyond the window, the testament to the claim Rogers had made of Barnes’s passion for gardening that Loki had dismissed as an attempt to make light of the situation.

The garden was full. By comparison, the decorations in the room Barnes had bequeathed to Loki were sparse and minimal. Barely accented.

Barnes had only bothered to pack a single bag of contents to take with him. He knew there was a chance Loki could destroy much of what was in the room, and yet had left most of it in place.

Loki noted that. He paused between sips of his drink. “Your garden is impressive.”

Barnes blinked, as if startled. He looked towards the window above Loki, where the curtains were still parted.

The stiff set to his shoulders did not exactly relax, but Loki imagined that some of the suspicion in his eyes faded. “Thanks.”

Later, Barnes reluctantly physically assisted Loki to the bathroom. He then shadowed Loki as he insisted on a second, limited journey across the room.

Loki quickly found that though he felt well enough at the start, his body was not yet completely recovered from the attempt from that morning. The ache in his limbs set in much more quickly, muscles trembling with overuse after only two steps. He only made it half the distance before Barnes was sweeping in, lips pressed together as he tried to support Loki’s slumping body, using as little of his left hand as possible during contact.

After, Loki stared through the window at the afternoon sunshine, nestled again on his pile of cushioning and blankets. Barnes was back against the wall, but Loki could still feel the parts of himself that the man had touched. Just as he had with Rogers.

It was with a growing chagrin that he realized that the sensitivity in his skin, while diminishing in some ways, was only continuing to - worryingly - increase in others.

He could barely walk. That fact did not stop that peculiar ache from growing, or his mind from brushing over, again and again, the kindnesses he was being offered. Even if they weren’t sincere. Even if they were only borne of a necessity, doomed to be brief. The cover for some ulterior motive he had not yet managed to fully glean from his caretakers.

He’d spent years alone. Starving, in more ways than one.

This, he thought, could very well shape up to be a problem.

Chapter Text

It was the raccoon that came out to find Bucky by the lakeside.

He hadn’t walked nearly far enough from the victory party to escape detection if someone came looking; that had been an intentional decision.

He’d just needed a minute.

A minute might have turned into a few more minutes and a careful shifting of position until he was out of all lines of sight, quietly breathing in the earthy air around the shoreline as the sun dipped lower. The boisterous and constant sounds of celebration echoed through the trees towards him, rousing here and there with cheers or laughter, before dwindling back down into background noise.

If Steve had still been around, or Wilson not preoccupied by all the joyful camaraderie and prying questions about the new disc-shaped case he was carrying with him, Bucky knew he would have been found and pulled back into that revelry by now. But most of the people attending had no idea who he even was at a glance beyond just another fellow soldier, and their attentions were split between enough of those to not take notice when he slipped away.

Still, the footsteps approaching him as dusk settled a glow over the lake weren’t a surprise. The fact that their owner was a walking talking woodland creature...not as much of a surprise as it would have been a few weeks earlier.

Five years and a few weeks earlier.

Turning into dust and skipping time was a new one. Usually he was just frozen.

He looked down just as his visitor shoved the rest of a half-eaten piece of cake into his mouth, rubbing his hands together to brush the remaining crumbs off. He spoke between giant, chomping bites. “Boy, you sure are the life of the party, ain’t ya?”

Bucky looked back out to the lake, absently curling vibranium fingers where they rested hidden in his pocket. Either the raccoon was here to talk about something specific, or he was here to talk about nothing at all.

A sudden influx of raucous laughter flowed through the trees, emanating from the heart of the party in the distance. It was offset by a heavy sigh at his side. “Okay, maybe that whole thing didn’t go exactly as planned. But he’s alive, isn’t he? He’d be getting drunk off his ass with the rest of us if he wasn’t so worried about setting an example for that pale and squishy offspring of his.” When Bucky didn’t answer, there was a sharp noise of frustration. “Usually folks with baggage say something stupid by now. That way I can get to making fun of their suffering. You know, before we get on with the more important shit.”

How good would the raccoon be at tracking him if he tried to disappear into the trees?

Maybe throwing him into the lake would be an easier first step.

“He got a little overexcited, you got a little overexcited...hey! Where are you going? I have something important to talk about!”

Leaves crunched under his feet as he reluctantly came to a stop. Not because of the raccoon.

Someone was standing in the woods ahead of him, a slash of sapphire blue in the fading light. They weren’t visibly armed or trying to keep themselves hidden.

Bucky felt his stomach sink. It was Pepper Potts.

CEO to Stark Industries and, more recently - Stark’s wife.

His gorgeous wife, who was standing halfway up a sloping dirt hill and staring down at Bucky, her long blonde hair curled softly at its ends. He couldn’t see any accessories that might be used to call forth her armor, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have them on her person.

He remembered the way her voice sounded when she was shrieking in panic.

He waited, body tensed around the hollowness of resignation.

An awkward laugh came from behind him. When he dared glance away to look towards it, he found the raccoon forming a sheepish, fangy grin. “Yeah, so - the important thing might have been trying to keep you distracted until she showed up.”

Potts formed a smile that came off a lot less strained than the situation warranted. “James,” she said, tone light. “I’m sorry that I keep missing you.”

She was holding a folder clutched in her hands.

He took it cautiously when it was offered. Didn’t understand.

A few days later, after the cab had dropped him off and he stood in the open doorway to a fully furnished house, the property deed in hand, Bucky still didn’t understand.

Or why, months later, after nearly an hour of restless weeding in his garden in the black of night, faced with the conundrum of an alien god with a debilitating fear of the dark and the potential to risk the safety of said property, he thought he had any kind of right to ask Stark Industries for a favor.

Loki had been staring at Bucky for the last several minutes.

Staring, and - in a strange change of pace - not trying to talk to him.

He’d asked for help with getting up more during Bucky’s most recent watch than he had the entire rest of his stay combined, so odds were it wasn’t him watching in stoic silence, wanting something but unwilling to speak the words.

Bucky preferred the staring to the talking. Even if the level of constant precise attention was too new for it to not feel like a warning in of itself - Loki’s gaze was relaxed but alert, and tracking every little movement that Bucky made. And he wasn’t exactly still while he did it, his pale throat working now and then as he swallowed, or his chest expanding on a mostly wheeze-free sigh.

Those icy blue eyes were locked in place, and didn’t seem like they were going to be moving away from him any time soon.

Bucky alternated between looking back and ignoring him. He wanted to do something a little more active with his hands than just idly and pointlessly mess with his phone, but he didn’t feel focused enough under that watch to do any reading. He wasn’t about to write in a journal around Loki, either - not when he had been so insistent on trying to pry into what Bucky didn’t want him to pry into.

He was sure he hadn’t seen the last of that behavior, especially since Loki’s recovery wasn’t showing any signs of plateauing. He was coming back with an astonishing speed, and that was only growing more obvious the better he got - an alien of incredible magical power and durability, returning to health with a quickness befitting that. He still reacted to every touch, still shivered and shuddered and grunted when he was held, but the marks Bucky had left on him during their last walkaround hadn’t been as bad as they usually were.

Bucky remembered the days when he’d scoffed at the idea of Loki healing from anything.

Mentally, Loki’s stillness seemed increasingly due to an increase of calm rather than just pervasive exhaustion. But that air of wariness remained, that felt like all it would take was the littlest application of pressure to send it swirling back into terror.

That was fine. It wasn’t as if Bucky was willing to reciprocate much trust. Even if he’d - probably prematurely - repeatedly reassessed and downgraded Loki’s immediate threat level since his initial arrival.

As the sudden outburst in the living room the night before had proven, the potential of Loki to become a bigger problem before Bucky managed to get him off his hands and out of his house still wasn’t completely out of the question.

The parameters required for an actual departure were the issue. Loki was a lot more agreeable now that he wasn’t all animalistic flinch-cringe-scream responses, and judging from his reaction at the window apparently just looking outside wasn’t a trigger for his fear unless it was dark. But Bucky would bet the entire property that unless he got whatever panic-induced magic he emitted under sudden and complete control, engaging in any sort of travel wouldn’t be anything except unutterably catastrophic.

Bucky looked up from his phone again and, sure enough, Loki was still watching him, his pale neck stretched long from the angle at which he was resting his head. Unwavering, and quietly curious. Like Bucky was something to be studied.

That kind of gaze would have had a lot more unpleasant associations for Bucky if the person doing it wasn’t just a tangle of pale and thin limbs on his back on the ground connected to a gaunt face that was surrounded by snarled hair growing that was just growing more snarled with every passing day.

Another couple of days and if the marked improvement continued, maybe Bucky would present the idea of doing something about that. Just shaving it all off would be the easiest route, but even if Loki agreed to that, Bucky knew putting something even somewhat sharp next to the skin of his overly reactive houseguest was just asking for blood on the floorboards.

He could just make Steve deal with it. Steve would probably like dealing with it. Well, maybe like was too strong a word, but not as strong as it would be when considering Bucky’s personal opinion on the matter.

Loki was still just staring at him. Bucky belatedly realized he’d dropped all pretense of trying to distract himself and had just been staring back.

He rubbed the pads of his fingers over the smooth surface of his phone; he might have liked the quiet, but this was getting a bit much even for him. “You need something from me?”

Loki’s eyes tightened, the pattern of his breaths changing ever so slightly at the acknowledgment. “No,” he said simply. But he didn’t bother to avert his gaze. If anything, it only seemed to intensify.

Bucky tightened his jaw, wondering what that was about, and was about to demand Loki cut it out when he had a sudden realization.

In the past, Loki had spent the majority of his time unconscious, or in a half-dazed state. The smallest efforts had sapped him of his energy and sent him passing out. Now he was spending consecutive hours fully awake. Not only that, but Bucky had moved him somewhere that didn’t have anything of interest to look at besides the backs of the books on the shelf that were too far out of reach. Those, and Bucky himself.

He might as well have been put into an empty cell.

Bucky sighed, feeling a little like an idiot. Could practically hear Wilson berating him. I didn’t actually mean the treat him like a plant thing literally, Buck.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, considering. “Do they have books where you’re from?”

Loki’s eyes narrowed, thin fingers twitching where they rested across his chest. “Yes,” he said, tone guarded.

And he spoke and understood English. Chances were he knew how to read it.

Bucky got up, not missing the way Loki curled his hands at the movement, eyes moving back into a greater wariness. Bucky didn’t bother to explain himself. He just pulled a few of the novels off of the shelves and set them down next to Loki’s bedding. They were all secondhand, an assortment of gently used sci-fi and fantasy novels that he’d found at the same yard sale where he’d picked up his Falcon sweatpants. He hadn’t gotten around to most of them yet.

“Take your pick,” he said, going back to his spot against the wall. “Try not to get a papercut.” Bucky wished he meant that as more of a joke.

Loki looked over at the books, brow crinkling. Cautiously, he reached out, picking up one and staring at the art on the cover in bemusement.

Less than two minutes later, he was quietly reading.

Bucky settled back, changing his mind with a quiet bloom of satisfaction. This he preferred to talking.

Steve came back in later that evening, the sleeves of his button up rolled to his elbows. It was past dinnertime, and Bucky was hungry enough by that point that he wasn’t planning on anything that required any kind of elaborate or lengthy preparation.

“I didn’t have time to finish it,” Steve said as he crossed the room towards Loki. “But whatever’s there should be enough for now.”

Bucky watched Loki gasp and grit his teeth with strain, stuttering upwards on disobedient legs as he insisted on being a more active participant in his own movements. Once upright, he was almost steady, his lips closed tight as Steve adjusted where his forearm was braced around his abdomen, absently checking that Loki’s pajama pants were going to stay put.

“If it works,” Bucky said bluntly. “And if he doesn’t teleport himself right out of the room.”

Loki didn’t bother to say anything in response to that. Either he knew he didn’t have any valid argument to present against it or he was too busy focusing on trying to keep his legs from buckling beneath him.

Bucky went over, noting the three books that had been set aside, and the one resting open, about halfway through. He bent down to pick it up, carefully keeping Loki’s place. “Settled on this one, huh?”

Loki, who was breathing heavily in Steve’s arms, frowned. “What?”

Bucky gestured to the pile of books that Loki had moved farther from the others. “You skipped those.”

Loki fluttered his eyelids, looking vaguely offended. “I finished them.”

Bucky blinked in astonishment, looking down at the books again. The serum and training he’d undergone over the years meant that his own reading and comprehension speed was quicker and more efficient than most people’s, but it looked like Loki’s was beyond even that.

“If we could begin our traversion,” Loki said, pulling his lips back into a grimace as he shook his hair out of his eyes. He adjusted his stance against Steve. “My energy is not limitless.”

Bucky shook his head, reaching down for the bedding. At this rate Loki was going to plow through his meager collection in just a couple of days.

He led the way back into the main part of the house. The living room seemed a lot more spacious now that the damaged television and table had been cleared out.

There was another, much more notable difference, now - on the expanse of the wall that had once had the television in front of it, was a partially completed mural. The start to a landscape of trees that almost stretched floor to ceiling, nestled over a carpet of thick grass and flowers. An illusion of nature, vine-covered bark and insects and birds. Bucky kept finding more details the longer he looked.

Bucky paused after setting down the cushions in front of it, taking a moment to appreciate the image, knowing that it was only going to look even more amazing once it was complete. Not that he’d expected anything less from Steve.

Loki was staring at the wall with a furrowed brow, still hanging off of Steve’s support. “A painting,” he said, and his voice was flat but his eyes were scanning, like he was trying to decipher a puzzle.

Steve lowered him to the floor and Loki made a tense noise as his arm slipped free of where it had been braced against broad shoulders. He didn’t immediately slide into a supine position, instead keeping himself sitting upright, his long legs folded in close for balance. He was still looking over the mural, mouth slightly agape.

“Here,” Bucky said, handing Steve one of the replacement electric lanterns he had picked up earlier that day. “Stay close to him.”

Steve nodded, crouching down without question. Loki turned his gaze sharply on Steve, then back to Bucky in suspicion. Bucky turned away, moved across the room, thought here goes nothing, and switched off the lights.

The room went dark. Loki jolted with a cry, his breaths escalating.

They just as soon caught in his throat.

Across the wall in front of him, the colors of paint had changed; in the dimmed light they lit with a spectacular glow. Most of the image remained incomplete, entire sections with details missing, the colors fading into darkness. But Steve had focused on the center first, done enough layers that it resulted in a thick patch of golden yellow so strong that it gave the illusion of an actual source of light behind the trees that sent beaming rays bursting through.

“It worked,” Steve said, sounding just as surprised as Bucky felt. He carefully rose, taking a step back from Loki to better take in his own work. “You picked this up at the store?”

Bucky shook his head, throat closing a little as he felt that familiar wriggling guilt. “Stark,” he said. “I sent a message last night. Got the delivery while I was out getting new lights this morning.” He somehow managed to get a swallow down. “The note said he’d invented them for his daughter.”

“Stark,” Loki repeated sharply. He was a dark outline against the brilliance of the paint, rigidly tense. He didn’t tear his eyes from the light. “You told him I was here?”

“No,” Bucky said. Like he’d be crazy enough to let that slip. “I said it was for me.”

“And what did he demand in return for this favor,” Loki asked, hands twitching over his lap.

“Nothing,” Bucky said, fighting down another jolt of unhappiness. He flipped the lights back on, and the glow of the paint settled as the contrasting darkness around it fled.

Loki’s shoulders sagged in relief; he almost fell forward, head hunching down as he caught himself on one hand, his razor-edged shoulder blades pressing into the fabric of his shirt. “That was unpleasant,” he said bitterly, eyes casting towards Bucky in accusation.

Bucky shrugged. “Unpleasant’s better than screaming in the middle of the floor.” Or destroying the entire house next time and leaving me needing to explain exactly how that happened. “It’s there now,” he said, gesturing to the wall. “Try to stick around it.”

Loki exhaled heavily, sending Bucky another irritated look before he shook his head and began to laboriously lower himself onto his back on the cushions.

“It’ll take me at least a few days to finish,” Steve said. He nodded at the wall. “It’s bright. We could pick up a few more portable items to color that Loki could keep close.”

“There’s more paint in the garage,” Bucky said. “He sent an entire crate. Enough for every room in the house.”

Loki spoke between heavy breaths as he got himself settled. “With no questions or concerns as to why you would need such supplies.”

“If he does have any issues, they’re not gonna be with you,” Bucky said, some bite seeping into his voice.

Loki tilted his head back, giving Bucky an upside down, narrow-eyed stare. Steve gave him his own searching look, brow pulled together in concern.

Bucky felt his face twitch when he realized what he’d let slip. He shook his head, deciding it was high time for him to step out for some fresh air. He’d be postponing his own dinner even longer, but he’d decided he’d spent more than enough time with conscious Loki for that day.

“Your turn,” he said to Steve, moving to the front door. “I’ll grab some rocks from the yard while I’m out.” He didn’t wait for a response before he opened and shut it behind him, taking quick steps towards the hose as he tied his hair back.

He hadn’t made it more than five steps before he heard the door open again.

“Buck,” Steve said behind him, his steady tread crossing the yard. “Tony knows you didn’t have control.”

Shit. This wasn’t the conversation he wanted to have right now. Especially because it was clear that Steve mistakenly thought Bucky was upset because of what had happened with Stark in Siberia.

He came to a stop with a sharp breath, silently cursing Loki. “I know,” he said, turning around. He did know, even though the reality was that Bucky wouldn’t have blamed Stark in the slightest if he had decided to maintain a violent grudge towards the Winter Soldier with every fiber of his being.

Steve came to a stop and scanned him up and down. “So that’s not what you’re worried about,” he guessed.

Bucky shook his head, glancing back to the house. “We shouldn’t leave Loki alone.”

“Loki’s all right,” Steve said, with full conviction, all but grinding his teeth in frustration. He seemed to try and get ahold of himself, looking around at the surrounding yard before looking back at Bucky. “So you don’t think you’re in danger from Tony.” Bucky hesitated, and then knew from the expression on Steve’s face that the hesitation was telling enough for him to grab hold of that lead. “You do.” He stepped forward. “I can talk to him. Whatever he thinks you did-”

“No,” Bucky said, hating that this was running away from him. His prosthetic hung loose at his side, feeling about fifty pounds heavier than normal; he resisted the urge to rub where it joined to his skin.

“Something happened between the two of you while I was gone,” Steve said - stretching, and missing the mark.

“No,” Bucky repeated. “Nothing happened while you were gone.”

Steve’s frown deepened, the wrinkles between his eyebrows going downright cavernous. “So it happened while I was here.” He wet his lips, staring Bucky in the eyes while he took his silence as an answer. “When?”

Bucky’s body had gone still, his body weight distributing in readiness for a retreat he knew he wouldn’t let it take.

He just wanted to water his fucking plants.

He lowered his eyes, knowing it only made him look guilty as hell but unable to help the response. “It doesn’t matter,” he answered.

Steve stepped closer, trying to get back in his line of sight. “It does if it’s bothering you.”

“A lot of things bother me,” Bucky said bluntly. He let his eyes flick back to the front door. “Loki completely alone in my living room being one of them.”

“Loki’s the one who suggested I follow you out,” Steve said.

The urge to retreat turned to the urge for something a lot more hostile. Bucky didn’t know what Loki thought he had to gain by ignoring Bucky’s clear demand that he stay out of his personal life, but he’d had enough.

He stalked around Steve, intending on heading back inside, and was jerked to a stop by a strong grip on his left arm. He turned to glare, his anger enough at that point that it was all too ready to just redirect itself to a new source, and then froze.

Steve was staring down at the limb in his grip, his brow furrowed and lips parted. Through the layers of Bucky’s jacket and his long sleeve shirt, he could feel Steve’s firm touch pressing down against vibranium, along with the sensation that hovered like static in the air between them, centered the most intensely on that point of contact.

In the dark of night, he could see the blue glow stirring up beneath the skin of Steve’s hand, radiating in pulses against Bucky’s jacket, stretching up through the muscles of Steve’s bare forearm and disappearing beneath his sleeve.

And on Bucky’s own palm, purple light emblazoned in a pattern of shattered glass against the metal, mixed in with the softer lines of five additional colors.

Steve met Bucky’s eyes in shock, their past argument completely forgotten. “This is new,” he said, with humor-tinged forced casualness.

Bucky stared down grimly, the memory of crunching bone stirring in his thoughts like the song of a well-worn record.

“No it isn’t.”

Chapter Text

There was dust in the air when the quiet descended over the battlefield like a blanket.

Steve staggered upright, the taste of copper strong on his tongue, sinking thickly into his throat. His body was burning like a fever, his head and muscles aching alongside the sharp shooting pain of multiple fractures.

There were hands pressed against him, all along his heaving shoulders, his back, his arms. They slowly fell away, leaving him to stand on his own, listening to the sound of his blood pumping in his ears. He looked through the expanse of destruction to find soldiers around him, standing in shock, bodies cast golden by the setting sun. Most of them were nursing their own limbs or otherwise injured, breathless and pained, but alive. They were staring at the crumbled bits of matter, light enough to float easily on the breeze before they dissipated completely.

Mjolnir was resting in the dirt at his feet. Beside it, the Space Stone was nestled, quietly pulsing light.

Steve’s broken shield hung loose against his forearm. He gently used it to scoop the stone back up, wary of directly touching it again by himself, wincing as the movement jostled about four injuries at once. He stared at the stone where it rested against the shield, almost feeling like he was getting a sense of contentment from it.

He could feel in every ounce of his being how close his own body had come to suffering the ultimate consequence of trying to personally use an Infinity Stone. Only the energy dispersal towards dozens and dozens of allies had saved him.

All it had taken was an instant, and the war was over.

They’d done it. They’d won.

When the cheer erupted around him, the realness of it took a stronger shape. He gave a stuttering breath, a release of tension from his aching, exhausted body. He felt hands clap on his shoulders - this time in joyful celebration instead of the desperate, clinging grips from minutes earlier. All around the battlefield people were celebrating, hugging, smiling through the dirt and grit.

Someone clapped their hand against his side. He turned his head and saw Sam, goggles clasped in hand, his lips pulled into a half smile. “So, five years, huh?”

Steve nodded, taking open-mouthed breaths, still reeling from the sense of victory. “It felt like a lot longer,” he admitted. He patted Sam’s side in return. “I’m glad you’re back.”

That feeling of relief didn’t stay at its peak for long. As he took stock of the surrounding soldiers, he saw that in the far distance, between vibrant rays of the setting sun that pierced through grey clouds, was the sight of a distinctly more somber gathering of bodies.

In their center was Tony, eyes wide and face drained of color, cradled by people that were trying to carefully get him to lay back. He looked like he was going into shock. Pepper was close at his side, the faceplate to her armor pulled back as she spoke urgently, her hands on his face.

Steve rushed over, concern rising.

T’Challa was there, along with General Okoye and Shuri, the latter of whom was scanning Tony’s condition with her beads. He rose to meet Steve as he approached.

“He had hold of all of the stones at once, on his own,” T’Challa said gravely. “The damage to his body is quite severe. We will stabilize him and take him to Wakanda to treat his injuries.” He looked around at the expanse of exhausted warriors checking in on each other. “And anyone else who requires more advanced care.”

Steve nodded, knowing Tony was going to be in the best hands on the planet. Shuri had put a bead from her bracelet against Tony’s arm, against where his armor was scorched and broken, the forearm shiny and wet with blood.

Then she turned her gaze to the side, jumped up, and raced off.

She came to a crouching halt half a dozen meters away, beside Thor, who had his hand out to help steady a body kneeling at his side.

It was Bucky. The Power Stone was gleaming on the ground beside his knee. He was staring at Tony like he couldn’t look away.

Steve pulled the sleeve to Bucky’s jacket up, his hand transferring directly to the vibranium wrist, staring in confusion at the lights. He didn’t get to look for more than a second before Bucky ripped his arm from Steve’s grip, all but stumbling backwards.

For a moment, Steve was worried Bucky was about to turn and bolt off into the night and he would have to give chase - but Bucky came to a stop only a few paces away, staring at his own hand in a kind of resigned horror. It was close to the look Steve had seen him wearing in the minutes after the battle, while Shuri had checked him over.

He’d been given the all clear right there on the field. Bucky hadn’t even needed to return to Wakanda for any treatment. He’d come out of it all in better shape than Steve had.

But obviously, judging from the lights of every color of Infinity Steve could see in Bucky’s arm, the effects of what they had done weren’t as impermanent as Steve had expected.

Steve felt the tingle in his own skin, rushing through his nerves - less intense than directly after he’d used the stone, a simmer rather than a roiling boil in his veins. The glow beneath his skin quickly faded, but the warmth remained.

Bucky and he stood watching each other with a lively chorus of crickets in the air, the silver glow of the moon painting the ground between them.

Steve lowered his arm, raising his head. “So are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“With me, or with you?” Bucky asked, intentionally evasive.

“Buck,” Steve said, frustrated.

Bucky sighed, looking betrayed by his own limb; his voice came out dull. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

Steve wasn’t ready to let it go this time. “Well, keeping it a secret obviously isn’t helping you.”

Bucky stared at Steve, his eyes back to a near glare, the ghost of a snarl starting to curve his lips. “I’m not trying to help myself.”

“I know,” Steve said, not knowing the specifics but able to tell the self-loathing and guilt that Bucky was fighting against. “But at least let me help.”

Bucky’s voice sharpened with a flash of teeth. “That’s exactly the reason I don’t want to talk about it.”

Steve squared his shoulders. He didn’t understand why Bucky was so angry about this. He hadn’t expected that the wall Sam had warned him about would be such an overarching obstruction in his attempt to reach out.

He’d been living with Bucky for days, but just then it felt like they were back to strangers again, warily navigating an interaction like they had back in Bucharest while the rest of the world was hunting Bucky down.

He wasn’t going to let it stay like this.

He expected to need to be the one to continue the conversation, but Bucky spoke again before Steve could. “You were never going to retire,” Bucky said, sounding suddenly weary. He looked towards the ground, hands balled at his sides. “You had the chance for happiness. Goddamn time travel, a once in a lifetime miracle to return to the gal you loved. We talked about it. You were so glad you were going back.”

Steve stood in confusion, watching Bucky’s averted gaze. They had talked about it before he’d returned the stones. And at that point, Steve had really thought that was how the rest of his life was going to play itself out.

Bucky flicked his eyes up. “And now you’re back here, getting involved and trying to fix shit that doesn’t need to be fixed. Or can’t be.”

His own frustration wasn’t diminished, but Steve tried to keep his tone calm and understanding. “You’re not talking about Loki.”

Bucky’s voice was low and blunt. “You deserved your peace with Carter.”

Steve felt a pang stir up in his chest and rush down to his gut; he set his face and let the sensation move through him. “She and I decided our best option for peace had a bit of a different definition.”

Bucky scoffed, but there was no bite to it. “You’re trying to tell me this is what you were looking for?” He shook his head. “Arguing in the dark in the middle of nowhere, while a crippled alien with magic powers threatens to blow everything to hell.”

“We’ve got a handle on the situation,” Steve said insistently, taking a step forward, gratified when Bucky didn’t attempt to retreat. “And a lot of that is thanks to you.”

Bucky stood silently, working his jaw, denial practically bursting from his face.

Steve’s gaze went to the clenched metal hand hanging by Bucky’s side, the ephemeral glow diminished back to polished vibranium. He at least knew enough now to make something of a guess as to what had happened. “You came into contact with all of the stones at once.”

Bucky’s expression tightened. “So did you.”

“You know what I mean,” Steve said, urging Bucky to come around. He raised his own arm in indication, wanting to make a point even if the blue glow was gone. “I took them all back to their designated timelines. The Space Stone was the only one I used.” Steve waited, but Bucky still wasn’t ready to take the conversation further. He exhaled sharply. “Come on, Buck. You gotta give me something.”

Bucky looked away towards his garden, the tendons in his neck standing out beneath the shadow of stubble on his face. “You’re worse than Loki,” he muttered, turning away and moving with stiff steps towards the hose.

He wasn’t moving fast enough for it to be a real retreat. Steve stepped after him, watched him bend and twist the valve to start the flow of water whistling from the pipes into the tube. Bucky grabbed the nozzle and started to unloop the hose from its rack, his eyes downcast.

“Stark had all the stones,” Bucky said, continuing with tense movements. His voice had changed, the previous anger replaced with an unsteady edge. “He was going to snap his fingers and end the war.” He pulled the hose towards the garden in the dark. Steve had to strain to hear his next words. “I stopped him.”

Steve felt his face pinch in confusion. He followed, but stayed outside the fence, resting his shoulder against a wooden post with his hands in his pockets as Bucky navigated the path between the plants. He tried to think back to the battlefield, searching his memory for any hints - but he hadn’t seen what had happened between Bucky and Tony before the Space Stone had landed at his feet.

“If that’s true, then you saved his life,” Steve said, watching as Bucky crouched down next to the lettuce crops.

Bucky didn’t respond.

Steve tried again. “If he’d managed to use all the stones alone it would have killed him.”

Bucky shook his head, refusing to take the reassurance. He pulled a sprouting weed from the soil with vibranium fingers, haphazardly tossing it aside. “You wanted me to give you something. I did.”

Steve wanted to press Bucky. He wanted details. He didn’t just want a peek over that wall; he wanted to break it down. If this conversation had been happening six years prior, maybe he would have tried that route.

But Bucky’s body language had changed along with his voice, his movements distracted, almost feverish, as he continued working in his garden. Telling Steve as much as he’d done had cost him.

Steve, reluctantly, didn’t pursue the subject. There would be another moment for him to find his opening.

And if there wasn’t, well… he’d make one.

He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes locked contemplatively on his bared skin. “And that whole glowing thing we both just did…”

Bucky snorted, moving to the next patch of plants. The quaver to his words were less pronounced, but his voice retained its weak tone. “Fuck if I know. Probably wouldn’t need lights or special paint for Loki if we could just do that on command.”

“I’ve been in physical contact with some of the other primary stone wielders since the battle,” Steve said. “I didn’t get a reaction like that with anyone else.”

Bucky paused, his gaze coming up to stare at nothing. When he went back into his movements, they were slower. “You think I should have the Wakandans check me over again?”

He didn’t sound overjoyed by that idea.

“Shuri offered,” Bucky went on. “Loki said something about the arm. So I called her. But she couldn’t find anything weird the last time she looked at me.”

Steve jerked his head up. This was new information. He looked back towards the house, where the lights were - thankfully - still on. Loki was alone inside, but if he was awake, he could probably vaguely hear their voices from this distance.

“Loki said something,” Steve repeated, frowning in consideration. When he looked back to the garden, Bucky was on his feet with the hose in hand, staring tensely his way.

“No,” Bucky said flatly, like he could read Steve’s intentions on his face.

“He told us he can sense whatever imprint the stones left on us,” Steve reminded.

“And what the hell would he do about it in his condition? He’s the only active problem I have right now.”

“He could at least confirm whether or not he thinks it’s going to lead to a bigger issue. There’s a chance he could give you some peace of mind.”

“He thinks we’re going to start beating the shit out of each other and him at any goddamn moment. He doesn’t know what peace of mind is any more than I do.”

Steve went quiet.

Bucky turned back to his plants, seeming to deflate as he turned the hose on a gentle spray. “I never asked you how she was,” he said, voice hesitant. “Peggy.”

Steve sighed, immediately taken back. Beautiful. Amazing. Strong. “She was good,” he said simply.

Bucky sent him a look, shaking his head. “Did you at least get that dance?”

Steve gave a self-deprecating smile, dipping his head down. “Took a few rounds of practice,” he said.

“Well, it’s been about eighty years since my last dance, so congratulations. You’re not as rusty as I am.”

Steve watched Bucky move through his garden, carefully maneuvering the trailing hose so it wouldn’t pull against any of the plants. He disappeared behind a tomato trellis, the sound of water hitting the soil moving along with him.

“I’ll let Loki look at it,” Bucky said, like a capitulation. “But you can’t be there while it happens.”

Steve’s shoulders relaxed. He stopped trying to track Bucky, instead letting his gaze fall back to the ground. “Do you want me to step out?”

“No,” Bucky said. Steve could hear his careful steps against the soil, the hose scraping against the path. “You have to stay in case something does go wrong. And if you think it’s so worth doing, he’ll have to check you next.”

Steve looked towards the house again; it was sitting silent and peaceful against the night sky. “I wonder what he’s going to think of all of this.”

“He’ll probably be surprised when we go back in after having not torn each other’s throats out,” Bucky said dryly. “If he hasn’t just passed out again.”

Both fair points.

Steve stayed outside while Bucky continued his rounds in the garden. His eyes had further adjusted to the dark, so he could more clearly see Bucky as he crouched and checked each plant for its developing produce. And while Bucky’s expression didn’t quite lose all of its disquiet - his forehead remaining wrinkled and his lips curved down - a sense of steady calm descended for the next several minutes.

Steve watched vibranium fingers gently pinch off the stems of herbs, and thought of how that vibranium had felt clenched in his grasp, cool metal somehow warming his skin. He wondered how much of that feeling had actually been due to the radiation that had seemed to cycle between them.

He had a distinct feeling that the answer to that was: not nearly enough.

Chapter Text

Loki woke to beaming sunlight.

He blinked as his vision cleared of the last vestiges of sleep, nearly shivering with the feeling of warmth that spread over his skin. It was a soothing heat that complimented the softness that cradled his back. His once stinging joints did not protest their press into its surface, and the bone-deep exhaustion that usually plagued his every cell was a pleasant drowsy hum instead of a grating, draining pit. When he quietly prodded at his magic, he even found a faint response - too thin for any real use, and likely to be drained in an instant if he were to lose control of himself again. But an indication, perhaps, of greater potential to come.

Such a hope was too distant to hold his attention for long. Instead, he focused on the air that he could inhale with little to no struggle, and the deep, rich aroma that filled it. His stomach rumbled hungrily in response, especially as the warm and heavy scent around him was accompanied by something savory, smelling strongly of salt.

That need was no cause for any great anxiety. He knew by now it would not be long before he was given sustenance - his caretakers had always been timely with their offerings when he’d woken in the past. So he only continued to drift contentedly, staring idly at his hand where it rested limply on his chest; it was lit to such a degree it looked as if it was itself glowing white, dust motes spinning lazily in the air above it.

He remained like that for several moments, his body loose and relaxed, before he finally recalled the events of the night before.

Barnes, his normally unpleasant mood made somehow more unpleasant, fleeing to his garden. And Rogers had simply watched, while his eyes blazed with an urge that he’d refused to follow through on.

Until Loki had said a few words. “You should follow him. At this moment, it sounds as if he’s even more in need of your aid than I am.”

The most minimal of promptings, and Rogers had given chase.

It was an intrusion greater than the ones Barnes had consistently warned Loki against pursuing. Loki had attempted to keep himself aware of their interactions as they happened, but despite his interest and resolve, his body’s energy levels had been fully depleted from the long day. It had not been long before his eyelids had heavily drooped.

Tension returned to him at the memory - tension, but also cautious curiosity for answers as to what exactly happened during the confrontation he’d missed. He cast his gaze towards the kitchen, and found the windows drawn wide, allowing the fresh morning air and the distant calls of birds to filter into the house. Barnes and Rogers were both within, silent. Neither was sporting any obvious signs of injury.

Whatever had happened, it wasn’t enough to make them unable to stand each other’s company.

Whether or not that would prove beneficial or detrimental to Loki’s situation remained to be seen. He had not precisely wanted to endure the inevitable climactic break of whatever mysterious issues stretched between Barnes and Rogers while he was still so physically weakened, but in the absence of a greater split between them there remained a chance they could present a united front. Especially if they decided to place blame upon him for insisting on repeatedly bringing the conflict to their attention.

He had a history of attempting to sow seeds of dissent among the Avengers. It would be foolhardy of them to discount such an event.

But despite all of those facts, they seemed at peace. For the moment, at least.

Barnes stood before the counter over something that gently hissed as it was cooked. He had changed his clothes, and was wearing a simple long-sleeved blue shirt over loose, black pants. It was a noted difference from the layers upon layers he had been insisting on donning in the days previous. His hair was bound back at the nape of his neck, accentuating the line of his stubble-shadowed jaw. The dark marks under his eyes had not improved with the passing time, but his movements were balanced and without fatigue as he gently grasped a pair of tongs, using them to manipulate whatever rested in the pan into a crescendo of sizzling.

Rogers was sitting at a nearby table in his own casual wear, a simple grey shirt stretched tight over his arms, his legs spread and posture loose. He held a pencil in one hand and his phone in the other, and there was a large steaming mug at his side. Loki assumed his sketchbook must have also been on the table, but was unable to confirm that from his angle of view. At the moment Rogers seemed mainly preoccupied by his phone, his face marred with a light frown as his eyes scanned over it. After a few moments, his expression smoothed out into an amused look.

“Sam’s done with his mission and heading home,” he said, twisting his neck to look towards Barnes. “I told him you were making breakfast. Apparently bacon in the oven on parchment paper is the way to go.”

“I’m not doing that,” Barnes said bluntly, not bothering to turn from his task.

Rogers’s light mood only seemed to brighten further at the clipped response. He looked back to the phone, his smirk deepening. “He says it’ll be a lot less clean up.”

“I like the clean up,” Barnes said, a little more sharply and defensively. “The skillet’s fine.” After a beat, Barnes reached over to his own phone where it rested on the counter, stared at it, then began furiously tapping at the screen.

Rogers glanced at him in growing fondness, shaking his head before his gaze slid idly over to Loki. He stilled once he noted Loki was conscious, the smile and all traces of amusement immediately fading from his face.

He set his phone and pencil upon the table. “Loki’s awake,” he announced, before rising and moving towards the device against the wall that kept food and drink cold.

Barnes’s face gave a visible twitch before he broke his eyes away from his phone to stare where Loki rested. If Rogers had gone reserved at noting Loki’s waking, Barnes went downright stony at the confirmation, his eyes skittering away like he couldn’t stand the sight of him for even a moment. He reached towards the wall where all manner of cooking implements hung upon a rack, grabbing a small pot and placing it down beside the pan from which the sizzling emitted.

Through it all neither made any indications they were building towards aggressive movement.

It would seem that Loki’s interference would result in no immediate rebuke.

Rogers approached him, holding the usual containers - one Loki knew would hold water, and the other the fragrant fruit and fat concoction meant to aid in the most efficient delivery of nutrients to his recovering body. He cautiously rose into a sitting position as they were placed on the floor before him, his gratification at his body’s obedience to his commands tempered by the lingering, solemn look Rogers sent towards Barnes’s turned back.

Loki pushed back a hank of his snarled hair, but whatever expression that darkened Rogers’s expression faded as soon as he turned back to acknowledge him again. He looked Loki over with an assessing eye, and seemed pleased by what he saw; his face softened with a slow exhale, and a shadow of a smile creased at the corner of his lip.

“Good morning,” Rogers greeted with a friendly nod. “Looks like you’re not having too much trouble sitting up, now.”

Loki hesitantly nodded back, wondering if Barnes and Rogers were really going to manage to keep him from gleaning anything in regards to what had happened the previous night.

“Hardly at all,” he answered.

That, at least, was true. His body might have had a tendency to break easily, even from something as simple as a walk across the room, but it was quick to recover from such events.

“That’s good,” Rogers said, and though his expression remained pleased, Loki thought there might have been something off about the way he was speaking. Rogers gestured towards the containers. “After you’re done with those I’ll take you to the bathroom. I set out some new clothes that you can pick from. Solid food will be on its way soon, but let me know if you want anything else.”

Loki nodded again, his stomach grumbling in eagerness as he reached for the first drink. The fruit used for his meals was often of different mixtures, but this time there was an undercurrent of nuttiness complimenting the sweet flavor, making his eyes slide shut in bliss as he drank. He had downed half of it before he realized that Rogers had not returned to the kitchen but was instead organizing tools in front of his mural and opening the containers that held Stark’s special paints.

Loki watched him work, taking occasional glances towards Barnes in the kitchen. He went over their previous exchange and the odd tone to Rogers’s voice multiple times as he partook in his meal, parsing possible double meanings to the words as he filled his aching stomach.

Rogers had seemed pleased about his improving health. He’d told Loki before that such an outcome was desired without the need of any sort of recompense, but Loki could not help but wonder if there was something Rogers had finally found that he wanted from him.

“Here we go,” Rogers said lightly as he helped Loki from the bathroom and back to his bedding.

Loki took in heavy breaths through straining lungs. He mostly only needed the assistance to keep himself steady in the dozen steps on the journey back; his ability to keep his feet for short periods was quickly improving.

His ability to ignore the way the broad body pressed against him felt as warm as the sunlight, on the other hand…

Rogers gripped him more firmly about the waist, and Loki winced and gasped at the pressure increase while he was steadily lowered to the floor. Once down, he breathed unevenly, unnerved by his own body’s reaction and willing his singing nerves to quiet down.

“You all right?” Rogers asked, a steadying hand resting - maddeningly - between Loki’s shoulder blades.

Loki gave a jerky nod, not trusting his voice. Luckily, Rogers was satisfied enough by his response to finally release him and turn away, returning to his paints. As he moved his muscles shifted and pressed into thin, clinging fabric, and Loki had to turn his gaze aside, trying not to recall too strongly how those same muscles had felt resting beneath his forearm.

It was only a touch. It should not have been concerning Loki as much as it was.

But after years of feeling nothing except the cruel embrace of the vacuum of space, and the steady lessening of the agony that had resulted with every contact after…

Like the taste of food, and the shine of day, it nearly sent him shivering. And that was only from the simple action of guiding him across a room.

It was just as well Loki had enough strength to dress himself in the clothes that had been offered. He was having a hard enough time withstanding such sensations even with layers of fabric separating him from his caretakers.

He tried to distract himself by noting the fresh blankets and pillows that had been placed over his bed, along with the bowl of the same gruel from the day before. Barnes had obviously delivered them, but when Loki checked he was standing in the kitchen, eating his own meal at the counter, his back turned to them as he stared out the still-open windows.

He remained there while Loki ate and Rogers painted, occasionally grasping his phone and prodding at it with a frown. He was silent, but there remained a hard edge to his movements that had Loki’s instincts refusing to completely discount his presence, especially as Barnes moved on to cleaning, rinsing dishes and wiping down surfaces with an unwarranted intensity and focus.

In times past when that level of stress was obvious, it would often lead to Barnes retreating outside as soon as possible. But this time, instead of immediately escaping to his garden and thus foisting the burden of Loki’s care solely upon Rogers, when he finally ventured from the kitchen, Barnes simply came to a stop near Rogers and stood there meaningfully. There was a plate resting on his flesh hand, a top of some oddly crinkled silver material folded over the top of it.

Though he was not being directly gazed at, Loki was immediately on greater alert. He cast his eyes to Barnes’s metal hand, and found it fisted tightly.

His feeling of unease did not improve when Rogers turned to look at Barnes as if he was surprised to find him there, then turned to Loki, then looked back to Barnes. Some sort of understanding passed between them, and Rogers began gathering some of the tools on the table beside the painting. He reached for the offered plate last.

“Bedroom okay?”

Loki could detect nothing but calm certainty in Rogers’s voice - certainly not the tone of a man who was vacating a room where violence was imminent. He went cautiously still all the same.

Barnes gave a sharp nod, his lips pursed. “Go eat before it gets cold.”

“I’ll start the outline,” Rogers said. He turned his gaze to Loki with a nod, again as if this obvious departure from their normal behavior was no great concern, then ventured down the hall with unhurried steps. A door opened and shut.

Loki and Barnes were alone.

For a long moment Barnes stood stiffly and silently, as if in Rogers’s absence he had no reason to keep functioning. Then a swallow jerked in his throat, and he turned his eyes to the windows, pupils flicking from side to side as he scanned the world beyond them. Behind him, the trees on the wall stretched up towards the ceiling, the newest patches of wet paint glistening. His body blocked the view of the majority of the painted golden light at the center.

Loki tilted his head, still wary, but again felt that spark of curiosity. He was sure that this was no simple exchange of watches, what with the increased level of ill-temper in Barnes’s normally ill-tempered disposition.

Barnes finally seemed satisfied with whatever scan he’d taken of the outside world, and lowered his gaze to Loki. He spoke without any preamble. “What’s wrong with my arm?”

Loki blinked, taken aback by both the question and the air of hesitance around it. “Your arm,” he repeated, confused.

“Don’t play dumb,” Barnes said lowly, but the heat to his voice quickly fled - overtaking it was an undercurrent of something almost...desperate. “The other day you said you felt something from my arm.”

Loki frowned, trying to recall said event, knowing it must have occurred while he was so drained with exhaustion that his mind did not hold strongly to the moment. He shrugged. “I may not have complete control over my magic, but I can still sense the traces left by the greatest powers in the universe.” He peered carefully at Barnes’s discomfiture, awaiting any sudden changes towards violence. “Is this what your conversation with Rogers last night led to?”

Instead of blocking Loki’s inquiry and telling him not to pry into his personal issues, Barnes looked down at his metal hand. “Is it going to hurt anyone?”

Loki went quiet in surprise, noting the way Barnes held the limb as if it was an enemy. He felt his forehead crease. “You’re distressed about this.”

Barnes dropped his arm. He didn’t respond, just looked at Loki with sharp eyes glittering, letting his previous question hang in the air between them. He did not make any moves to approach to deliver a more physical emphasis to his demand.

Loki licked his lips. For the first time since his waking, it would appear he had some semblance of leverage.

“You used the Infinity Stones,” Loki said. “You were able to come into physical contact with them without the immediate extinguishment of your life.” He met Barnes’s stare in kind. “Do you honestly not understand the potential effects of such use?”

“That’s why I’m asking you,” Barnes all but growled, hands curling at his sides. “No one else who looked at it was able to find anything.”

Loki found he was experiencing a stirring of something critical within him. He picked at a spot of the woven threads of the pants Rogers had helped him dress in - they were simple, black, and soft against his skin. “How much do you know about the Infinity Stones?”

“They’re powerful,” Barnes said. “And they don’t exist anymore.”

“But their workings, their history,” Loki said, his inkling only growing that this brief response was no mere result of Barnes’s laconic nature. “Surely you must have some knowledge of that. After all, you used them to help defeat Thanos.”

Barnes went even stiller, his throat jumping around another swallow. His blue eyes tightened at the edges and then directed downward.

Loki waited a few beats, but no response was forthcoming. “Did you not?”

Barnes shook his head, face contorting in frustration as he jerked his gaze back up. “Just tell me if it’s going to hurt anyone.”

“You didn’t,” Loki said in astonishment, his half-formed judgments developing more solidly at this confirmation. “What, exactly, did you do with the Infinity Stones? Did you have any idea of what you were doing at all?”

Loki should have known - from his experiences the humans had never shown a particular tendency towards competency around the stones. And that was when considering interactions involving their scientists and scholars. Barnes was simply a soldier, just as Rogers was a soldier.

How he had managed to survive his encounter with such limited knowledge, enhanced limb or no, was...baffling.

Barnes glared at Loki, fury twitching across his face. “I knew who and why I was fighting. I didn’t ask for your opinion on my technique.” His rage was clear, as was the desire in his eyes to be more forceful in his methods of dissuading Loki from this subject.

But though Loki waited, unable to do much else, Barnes did not cross the distance between them. “I can’t take back what I did,” Barnes said, voice gruff. “I just want to know if there’s anything left in me that I need to worry about.”

Loki slowly sat back, contemplating this turn of events, and the continuing evidence that he was in no immediate danger. “Such an action tends to leave its mark.” He brushed his own hand over his neck, briefly, a shudder coursing through his frame. “But I couldn’t tell you the precise effects it would have had on you without greater replenishment of my magic.”

Barnes blinked, his brow set hard as he looked back towards the windows. “I shouldn’t have brought this up,” he said, shaking his head as he took a step towards the door.

“Wait,” Loki said, stopping him before he could disappear. He tapped at his knee as he considered his words, letting his gaze fall back on the metal hand. His spine tingled the longer he looked at it. “I might still have some broader knowledge to offer,” he eventually said. “With your permission, of course.”

Barnes took in a breath, then two, then three. He’d stepped far enough from the wall that the golden light painted behind him was once again on display, the rays spread like they were trying to free themselves from the wall to reach him.

Loki could hear the plates in the arm shifting in the quiet, offset by a crow that cawed insistently outside.

He expected Barnes to refuse - he already was extremely reluctant to even touch or speak to Loki. So he was surprised when Barnes swallowed, roughly, and then asked, “What do you need me to do?”

Loki indicated the artificial limb with a gesture, covered as it was by fabric from the wrist up. “An examination through direct contact would provide the most in depth information.”

Barnes pressed his lips into a thin line. He looked behind himself and down the hall, as if to reassure himself of Rogers’s absence. Then he took a step towards Loki.

Loki swallowed heavily, resisting the urge to flinch back from Barnes’s proximity. He could see such a disposition mirrored back at him, which was frankly ridiculous considering their current respective strength levels. It would take Barnes no effort at all to leave Loki’s body as bleeding and broken as Thanos had.

Barnes stood before Loki for a moment, before he stiffly knelt, knees spread to aid in balance as he presented his left side at a partial angle. A snarl curled his lip in the moment before he hooked his hands beneath his shirt and pulled it off in one fluid motion, exposing his torso and the full length of his metal arm.

The limb itself was as sleek and smooth as those of the Destroyers of Asgard - though instead of a bright silver, it was charcoal dark, and the lines of it were trimmed with gold. The glare of the morning sun radiated across its surface with each movement. Whomever had designed it had done a spectacular job, both aesthetically and in functionality. And if it had survived contact with the Infinity Stones, Loki knew that whatever metal comprised it had to be of a worthy nature.

The image was contrasted by the mess of scar tissue where the arm joined to flesh, mottled skin stretching with every movement. Loki found himself squinting at the discordinance, unable to quite believe that something so expertly constructed would be so haphazardly applied as to cause such damage.

Barnes stiffly presented the limb to him, wrist and palm up. His shoulders, back, and core muscles were as tense as stone, standing out in sharp relief beneath his skin.

Loki raised his eyebrows at the metal offered to him, his hands remaining in his lap. He observed the peculiar way Barnes’s body had gone almost statue-still. The only visible actions being performed were his careful, measured breaths.

The change was striking enough that the lack of movement almost disturbed Loki as much as the outright anger. He raised his eyebrows dubiously. “You’re certain you’re not going to just hit me the moment I start?”

Barnes finally broke the odd stillness, and flicked his eyes towards Loki, before he stubbornly moved them back forward. “Keep insulting me and find out.”

Loki supposed that was fair. And he found the spoken half-threat put him more at ease than Barnes’s relentlessly unvoiced rage.

He slowly raised his hands, watching for any sign of withdrawal. Barnes remained unmoving, until the visible clench of his jaw as Loki’s fingertips came down upon the limb. He remained still otherwise, and so Loki allowed himself to look down at the metal directly, feeling the pulse of energies contained within its components. He reached his magic, gently calling to it, already knowing that this small effort was going to fully tax what little he had managed to build.

The arm was clearly the limb used for the stones, but the lines of their marks stretched well past the metal, embedding themselves into Barnes’s shoulder and the body beyond. He allowed his touch to tread higher, seeking to follow the lines for further confirmation of their widespread placement. But when his hand jumped from metal to flesh, he found himself profoundly distracted by the feeling of warmth.

And his was not the only response - at the touch upon his skin, Barnes sucked in a sharp breath, his muscles somehow managing to grow even tighter. Loki felt his heart begin to pound, worried that he had finally managed to trigger the bull he was baiting. Luckily, Barnes did not lash out, returning to his eerie stillness after only a few seconds.

Wagering on that continued control, a thrill deep in his belly now at the potential danger - Loki allowed his hand to slide further, feeling for the extent of the marks of Infinity, testing for any notable anomalies, and in fact interested in how Barnes had managed to be a vessel for such power and yet come out of such an encounter alive. If Loki had not been able to sense the remnants of the stones’ energies within the metal, he might have thought Barnes had simply lost the entire limb in their use.

“Well?” Barnes asked, sharp and impatient, startling Loki from his thoughts.

Loki stared at him, testingly allowing his hands to linger for a few seconds longer than was necessary. Barnes hadn’t moved his gaze or his body, but had begun to breathe in increasingly labored spurts. He still did nothing else, not even when Loki took liberties and allowed his fingers to drag a few inches down the length of his spine simply for the sake of it.

Interesting.

Reluctantly, Loki let his hands fall away, resigned at the weariness he could feel in his limbs from the drain on his magic. “They’re marks,” he said matter-of-factly. “The radiation of the stones is enough to alter molecular structure from simple exposure, let alone active use.” He let his eyes drift pointedly to the join of the arm at the shoulder. “They hold about as much capability for harming others as any scar.”

Barnes finally turned and looked at him again. He flexed the metal limb, pulling it back to let it rest lax against his thigh. “It lit up last night when Steve touched it.”

Loki narrowed his eyes at this revelation. “And that was the first time you’ve encountered such a reaction?”

“Since the actual contact with the stones,” Barnes said, with a guarded tone that meant he was still holding some things back.

Irritating, considering he’d approached Loki for information in the first place. Keeping important details secret was hardly a help towards uncovering the answers he sought. “It’s possible it could be a dormant power,” Loki answered anyway. “It’s not as if use of all five stones at once is a commonly studied occurrence, let alone with the variables present amongst the variously enhanced population of Earth.” He allowed his gaze to drift down the hallway in the direction Rogers had gone. “If we were to call your friend back, we might see if we can reenact your findings.”

Barnes swallowed, his shoulders hunching ever so slightly in what appeared to be discomfort at the suggestion. Loki rubbed his thumb over the pads of his other fingers, trying to erase the feeling of hunger that seemed to have permanently buried itself beneath his skin.

“Fine,” Barnes eventually said. He rose to his feet, leaving his shirt crumpled on the ground as he all but stalked down the hall.

Loki waited, listening as Barnes knocked firmly on the door Rogers had enclosed himself in.

He heard the door crack open softly, and Rogers’s surprised voice. “Buck, uh...everything okay?”

Loki narrowed his eyes at the tone, noting the higher than normal lilt.

When Barnes responded, his voice sounded half-flat, and half-furious. “I need you to come into the living room and touch me in front of Loki.”

Chapter Text

“I need you to come into the living room and touch me in front of Loki.”

Steve blinked at Bucky’s statement. Then he blinked again.

There wasn’t a change to the situation - Bucky was still standing stiffly outside of the bedroom door, stripped to the waist, his abs clenched over the waistband of his pants. And he was still staring at Steve with angry eyes, while the rest of him had gone oddly wary and motionless, like he’d just called him out for a fight instead of…what he’d actually said.

Steve folded his arms and glanced down the hallway towards the living room, where everything was quiet. He couldn’t see Loki from his position, but presumably he was still awake and listening - and had a lot more of a full picture of what was happening than Steve was currently working with.

Mostly Steve had needed to look away to try and hide the way the shock of going from a mildly meditative start to his painting session to finding Bucky outside of the guest room, shirtless, jaw set and posture confrontational, had thrown him for a bit of a loop. The combination of the spoken demand really wasn’t helping any of that, and Steve really wanted to break some of the tension with a joke to help cover up the heat he could feel rising on his face.

But when he turned back to Bucky, Steve could see a decision like that would be severely underappreciated. In the few seconds he’d looked away, Bucky had gone from confrontational to staunchly avoiding eye contact, eyes lowered to the floor, his throat working on a swallow.

The sight of that response was sobering - there’d been a reason for Bucky’s previous avoidance, and he clearly hadn’t just decided to completely throw aside whatever reservations he’d had about existing around other people uncovered. This was hard for him.

But Steve would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t at least a little glad that something had loosened in that respect that this was the place that they were now. “You sure?”

“No,” Bucky said, soft and blunt. He glanced up at Steve, just for a second, then turned away without another word and stepped back down the hall.

Steve frowned, guessing that was his cue to follow. He moved slowly, cautious now that Bucky seemed more upset than he’d been all morning, and conscious of the fact that there was something important here that he didn’t want to get wrong.

Loki was sitting up on the floor on his cushion in the living room, his legs crossed and his shoulders slumped, like he’d been thinking about sinking back to the floor. The collar of the black shirt he was wearing fell loosely to one side, exposing his clavicle. He gazed up tiredly when Bucky and Steve came to a stop in front of him, pressing his lips into a thin line and forcing himself to straighten with a fortifying breath.

He looked between them with careful consideration, eyes like blue chips of ice, reminding Steve of the shrewdness Loki’d displayed during his invasion of New York. He liked it a lot more now that it was on their side. Had been on their side against Thanos.

And now it was helping Bucky.

Bucky shifted his position so his left arm was angled towards Steve, the light beaming through the windows playing over the metal in a brilliant glare as it moved. Then he paused, hesitating, and looked back at Loki dubiously. “You look like you’re going to fall over.”

Loki narrowed his gaze, offended. “My eyes are in perfect working order,” he said. “And if the response of the mark is anything like what you described, it will be far easier to detect through other means once it is active.”

Bucky stared for a long moment, before he shook his head with a sigh. “All right,” he said, reluctant but resigned. “You’re the expert.” He finally made eye contact with Steve again, but dropped his gaze back to the floor before Steve could even nod at him in reassurance. He raised his arm in offering, gleaming metal reaching out.

Buck, I’m really enjoying the view, but it doesn’t really seem like you need your shirt off for this, was what Steve thought, but didn’t say. Bucky was extending his hand directly towards him but he was staring into nothing with his brow furrowed faintly with stress while the rest of his body settled back into that strange motionlessness.

Steve turned slowly to face him in kind, trying to strike a balance of casual motion and proper telegraphing of his movements. He could tell Bucky was tracking him in his periphery; the metal arm stayed completely still but his expression twitched tighter, like he had a mouthful of glass and was about to start chewing.

It wasn’t exactly the most tolerant of responses. Steve felt the pang of doubt he’d been nursing dig itself in a little deeper, before his determination shoved it aside. Whatever he did now would only show Bucky he didn’t need to worry as much as he was. He reached out for the offered arm, intending on reproducing their positions from the night before.

He hadn’t really expected anything. He’d touched Bucky plenty of times since Thanos’s defeat - in passing claps on the shoulder, and the hug they’d shared before he’d gone back in time to replace the stones. They’d sat shoulder to shoulder on the couch the other night, before Loki had woken and broken everything in the living room.

Nothing like the light they’d seen the night before had come up during any of that, so if it was something, whatever it was, Steve didn’t expect it would be activated by an action as simple as a physical reconnection.

But before his touch even came down against vibranium, Bucky’s arm flared to life with color. Steve felt shock lance through him as he completed his movement, closing the distance between them and grasping firmly at the metal wrist as his own arm brightened in kind with threads of shining blue.

He heard Loki’s responding gasp as a background noise, nearly fully distracted by what he was seeing. It wasn’t just Bucky’s metal arm that was reacting; the light was coming from his skin, too, going dull beneath his scarred shoulder before brightening again along his broad torso, up the side of his neck, flaring like the branches of a tree across lines of muscle and tendon. Even his eyes, usually so blue, almost looked like they were pulsing between colors.

Steve felt his lips part at the sight, wondering if anything like it was being mirrored in his own skin. Awestruck, he moved closer for a better look, his own pulse pounding in his ears as he let his grip slide up smooth metal from wrist to forearm.

Bucky forcefully wrenched his prosthetic away with a sharp breath, backing off in a rush and leaving Steve with nothing but the rough sting of friction against his palm. The blue glow in his skin quickly faded as he watched Bucky snatch his shirt up from the floor in his scramble to get as far across the room as quickly as possible.

On the ground next to him, Loki looked towards Bucky in exasperation. “Of course, it would have been ideal to be allowed more than five mere seconds to observe the phenomenon.”

“You saw it,” Bucky said challengingly. He’d already pulled his shirt on, hands tugging the hem down over his torso, his hair frizzing up from the rough movement. “Don’t tell me you didn’t get anything from that.”

Steve’s hand was still in the air; he forced himself to lower it to his side, sliding it into his pocket and turning to Loki to see what his answer would be.

Loki went quiet for a few moments. The calculating glint was back in his eyes. He held his hand out, palm up, towards Bucky.

Bucky hesitated, eyes tightening up at the edges.

“As you know, I have extremely limited energy left,” Loki said with a hint of impatience. “But I would be willing to expend what remains of it for an additional examination.” He raised a shoulder in a shrug, giving a thin, tired, humorless smile. “I expect I’ll be slumbering again very soon regardless of your choice.”

Bucky looked towards Steve, his eyes a little too wide. He licked his lips. “Check Steve first,” he said.

Loki let his hand fall with a sigh, then wearily repositioned himself so he was facing Steve. He beckoned him down with a pale hand. “If you would bring yourself within reach, Captain Rogers.”

“I feel fine,” Steve said, but that wasn’t entirely true. It was just he was pretty sure what he didn’t feel fine about wasn’t at all connected to whatever was causing the light reaction.

He crouched next to Loki all the same, pulling his hand from his pocket to give him better access.

There was a faint tremor in Loki's hands as they took Steve’s between them. But there was also an underlying strength to the grip, which was warm from Loki’s time spent that morning baking himself in the sun.

Loki’s eyes fell shut, his thin throat convulsively working, some of the fatigue on his expression fading as he focused. He let his fingers trail from Steve’s palm to the inside of his wrist, all the way up to his shoulder. They were deft, pausing occasionally and prodding searchingly, massaging into pressure points while Loki’s brow furrowed.

Steve remembered those same hands violently throwing him across the pavement in Stuttgart, and Loki’s feral, looming visage. It was starkly contrasted by what he was seeing now, the careful touch that was a lot more pleasant than Steve had expected - subtle, knowledgeable. Careful.

He was a bit startled when Loki let his hands fall away, signaling that they were done. Like he had with Bucky, Steve sat there with his arm still dumbly outstretched before he made himself withdraw it and settle it closer to his body.

Loki pried his eyes open, exhaling heavily. His voice cracked with fatigue. “You feel fine, Captain Rogers, because you are fine.”

Steve nodded, unsurprised by the answer. He shifted back onto his heels, letting his tingling arm rest on his knee. He looked expectantly towards Bucky, who was still stationed on the other side of the room.

Bucky finally, reluctantly, came forward again. When he reached Loki, he folded his legs under him and more or less crashed to the floor with a huff. He unfolded his arm and moved his eyes away from what Loki was doing, and was caught in Steve’s gaze for a moment before he turned even further to avoid that, too.

Loki grasped at Bucky’s arm with clear curiosity on his face, pulling up the long sleeve of Bucky’s shirt so he could have better access. Bucky’s lips twitched into an almost snarl that faded as soon as it came, his chest moving a little too quickly for his breaths to be calm. Steve watched Loki’s fingers dance over the lines of the metal arm, before pressing his hand beneath the sleeve. Unlike with Steve, Loki kept his eyes open for this inspection, glancing at Bucky’s face and pausing for longer spans. It was like he was waiting for something: an order to stop, or a reflexive movement away.

Bucky endured the full examination quietly. He looked relieved when Loki finally dropped his hands, drawing in a shaky breath.

“As of now,” Loki said, tone measured, “there is nothing for you to worry about.”

Bucky rounded on him, lips pursed into a grim frown. “And what the hell’s the catch to that?”

“Captain Rogers wielded the Space Stone,” Loki said, glancing towards Steve. “The one I have the most direct history with, up until it being used in my attempted murder by Thanos.” Loki’s hand drifted up to rub absently at his neck. “And while you bear the marks of every single one of the Infinity Stones, it’s clear that one in particular settled into your body with more prominence than the others.”

Steve remembered the purple glow on Bucky’s palm, outshining the others. “The Power Stone.”

Loki looked angry. “It was much more aggressive than the others, as you can imagine. Purely an instrument of destruction. And it holds the honor of nearly killing Thor.”

Bucky swallowed, looking faintly sick. “What does that mean?”

“It means that I am much less familiar with it, and so less able to predict the nature of its effects,” Loki said. “But as it’s receded into dormancy along with the other marks, right now there is no cause for concern.”

Bucky’s tension only seemed to increase at that. He looked down at his vibranium hand like it was something from a nightmare.

Steve wanted to come closer, but Bucky had made it clear that he didn’t want any contact from him. And at the moment, Steve didn’t know what he could do to fix that.

But maybe Loki did.

Unfortunately, it looked like Loki had been telling the truth when he’d estimated his remaining time awake. Exhaustion was crashing over his shoulders like a cloud, every part of his body seeming to angle itself down despite his efforts to stay up.

Bucky didn’t notice, still absorbed in looking at his arm.

Loki let out a heavy exhale at the sight, shaking his head. His tremors were growing more pronounced, so Steve instinctively reached a hand out to brace against him to help him stay upright. Loki turned to him sharply, then let Steve take more of his weight, nodding his thanks.

“Go tend to your garden, Barnes,” Loki said. “Trust that if I perceived any true danger, I would be the last person to sugarcoat my findings.”

“It’s all right, Buck,” Steve said, feeling like he needed to add to the assurance. “I didn’t feel anything wrong with what happened.”

Bucky darted his eyes sharply towards Steve, then Loki, then back to Steve again. He curled his metal hand, forcefully lowering it to his side. The nod he gave in response was weak, and like every time before, he didn’t hold eye contact for long.

He reached for his jacket on the way out, pulling it tight over his shoulders.

Steve watched the door shut behind him, then turned back to Loki, who was staring thoughtfully at nothing, even as Steve could feel he was near collapse.

“If you have questions, I cannot answer them with any certainty as of yet,” he said, voice distant. His chin dipped down to his chest. “I’ve more than fully taxed what little reserves I had. Anything more would be fruitless, and render me useless for that much longer.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Steve said. Loki sent him a half-lidded look of disbelief. “It can wait,” Steve amended. “You recover fast.”

Loki grimaced, looking away. “I thought you were known for your honesty, Rogers.”

“You do,” Steve insisted, eyebrows raised. “I have the sketches to prove it.”

Loki dipped his head down further, his snarled hair hanging to hide his face. “The stuff of nightmares, no doubt.”

“You’re fighting your way back from that,” Steve said. “Thank you, for doing what you could.”

Loki brought his head back up, blinking like he was startled by that response. “You’re welcome,” he said, voice soft. He started to lower himself onto his back, teeth bared with exertion while Steve kept him steady on the way down. When he was settled, Loki immediately went limp, eyes closing. “It will take some time for me to regain any strength. But when I do, we might try again.”

Steve thought of Bucky’s smooth wrist against his palm, and Loki’s long fingers prodding his skin. “We’ll do that,” he said. “Get some rest. I’m going to go clean up the guest room. Shout if you need anything.”

Loki sank further into the cushions, listening as Rogers stepped away to attend to his chores. He huffed out a quiet series of laughs, his chest moving in sharp but shallow jerks.

He was grateful that his first time to dissolve into such hilarity had come well after his body had regained the ability to better withstand the crush of Earth’s gravity. Just weeks ago, it would have been quite the excruciating endeavor.

As it was, the strain of it still made his eyes water beneath clenched lids, and he was soon forced to quiet himself just so he could catch his breath. And as he filled his aching lungs, his mind pulled deeper into the wave of exhaustion that would soon drag him into sleep, Loki considered all that had just happened.

He was almost certain now that the reactions in Barnes and Rogers were of no immediate danger. They were the residual energies left from their use of the stones, as Loki had first suspected. Whether or not they harkened to some kind of deeper power, to either be of possible use or of great harm, remained to be seen. For the moment they were merely a dramatic display, and too brief to be of any real consequence.

But Rogers and Barnes did not need to know that just yet.

Because in another area of judgment, Loki had been so very wrong.

He was willing to admit that his previous conclusions when it came to his caretakers had been colored by his expectations of aggressive, or simply even stern treatment.

A fight, he had thought. A vicious argument that brewed between Rogers and Barnes that would lead to an inevitable falling out and irreversible damage to whatever relationship that stretched between them.

But even when furious, Barnes had not exploded into violence. And the concerns that he would lash out at Loki’s lingering contact, or even that of Rogers, had both been unfounded.

But not simply unfounded.

Loki had spent so long senseless in space, he would forgive himself his belated realization.

Barnes was no hermit whose very nature made him restless at the presence of others invading his space and disturbing his privacy and solitude. He could be short tempered and abrasive, but he was clearly first and foremost concerned about the danger he himself presented. And now that Loki was aware of it, he could read the signs to support the idea in every previous interaction. What had led to such responses on the part of Barnes was still somewhat of a puzzle, but as Loki had pieced together some of it, he was growing more confident that he could unearth the rest soon enough.

Especially because he knew now, that despite his actions superficially indicating such, Barnes did not actually abhor touch.

He hungered for it.

And what was more - Rogers ached in kind. Loki had seen it when he’d clasped his hand against Barnes, wishing to close the distance between them. It had been a longing as plain as sunlight.

This, Loki thought, he could work with.

Chapter Text

The garden was full of weeds.

Bucky knew that despite his adaptable vision, nighttime gardening didn’t result in the best of visuals. He was still pretty sure there hadn’t been anywhere near this many visible invaders when he’d last left his chores. Everywhere he looked, he found sprouting thistle, crab grass, and a few more things that he had no idea of the identity of but was sure he didn’t want in the fence line trying to get a foothold and compete with his plants.

The soil was still loose from the previous night’s watering, which at least meant most of them came up easily, accompanied by bursts of the scent of damp earth. The few that had established themselves a better root system he worked out with a large knife stabbed into the dirt.

It still took a while. He could have probably just used his vibranium arm for most of them to make things quicker, but he didn’t trust himself not to accidentally crush the stems to a pulp and instead draw out the process. Not when his jaw was aching from all the overdone teeth grinding he couldn’t stop and that sick feeling in his stomach insisted on hanging around long after his heart had stopped pounding.

He liked that he had something to focus on besides the memory of Loki’s hands.

He felt like they were still on him, following him beneath his jacket as he moved through the garden. Whenever he focused too much on the phantom sensation, goosebumps raised along his skin, threatening to bring out a shiver.

Bucky had been touched by plenty of people over the years who’d had no particular interest in being gentle. He hadn’t expected anything particularly violent or aggressive with Loki, not when the condition he was in rendered him basically effectively incapable of both. At most, Bucky’d thought the examination would be more in line with anyone who’d ever looked over his body with clinical, expedient detachment.

He wasn’t sure what it was he actually got, but it sure as hell hadn’t been that.

Maybe it was an effect of whatever magic Loki was trying to build up, or just normal alien behavior that Bucky couldn’t wrap his head around, but…there’d been some sort of weird deliberate care to the contact. Not like the kind he’d gotten in Wakanda, where they’d been competent and kind while allowing for respect towards the potential danger he could present before they’d cured him of the Winter Soldier programming. And definitely not like the kind he’d been getting from Steve.

Steve was an entirely different problem.

Bucky reached for his next weed and froze when he saw a snake nestled behind it. He paused, blinked, and then a second later realized it was just a branch.

Exhaling through flared nostrils, Bucky picked it up and threw it over the garden fence. Get a fucking grip. He went through his chores list - after the weeding, he needed to prune some of the trees, and he could get started on figuring out what seed starts he wanted to try for the winter. The trays that he had set up in the garage for the fall season were already sprouting, and needed fertilizer. He’d be able to start moving them outside soon, and then replace them with the next batch.

If he stayed here until then.

Bucky glanced back at the house. Sometimes lately he felt a prickle down his neck, and he knew that usually meant Steve was watching him work from the window. But Steve wasn’t watching him now. Which meant the hairs on the back of Bucky’s neck were stiffening for no damn reason.

He forced himself to go back to his weeding, letting the task sink into his bones even as his mind refused to stop. He didn’t know what the hell he’d thought he was doing, letting Loki encourage him to trigger the thing he was worried about. He’d been thinking about the forgotten book at Loki’s side, remembering the speed in which he’d read through the others. Five years in space had fucked with Loki’s head and body, but it hadn’t changed the fact that he was a hyper-intelligent alien who at one point had some pretty impressive magical powers.

Bucky had wanted the all clear.

He’d still thought, however slim, that there was at least a chance it was all in his head.

It wasn’t like Bucky didn’t know that even without the light show having any effect on his abilities, he wasn’t exactly the safest person to be around. Even when he was trying. But just another scar would be easier to deal with than some universe creation juice flowing through his veins. If that was even a thing.

Now he was trying to brace himself for the possibility that there was probably something else in him that urgently needed fixing.

He finished up the last patch of weeds. His skin was still twitchy enough that he knew he was going to have to at least take a quick run to settle himself back down the rest of the way. He was due another more thorough check of the property perimeter, anyway.

He didn’t bother with the garden gate, vaulting himself over the side of the fence. He set the bag of weeds down just outside of it to take care of when he got back. Like clockwork, he heard an angry shriek in the branches above, followed by aggravated chattering.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, brushing his hands off on his pants as he started to follow the path through the trees. He stopped dead with a jolt before he got more than another few steps.

Someone was hiding behind one of the trees. He’d seen a flash of something in his periphery, that feeling of being watched increasing tenfold along with it.

He turned slowly, heart seizing and vibranium fist clenched defensively, then just as soon lost that tension when a familiar gap-toothed grin peeked around back at him.

Sam.

“Easy,” Sam said. “Just keeping you on your toes.” He stepped out from his hiding place, revealing that he was in his civilian clothes - jeans jacket and shirt - and had three separate bags slung over his shoulder. He looked Bucky up and down, unfazed by the growing disgruntled look being directed at him. “You look like you’re dressed for one of your trademark sweat-out-your-demons runs.”

“Feeling like I need it now more than ever,” Bucky muttered, the extra shot of tension he’d been given fading fully into irritation. At least Sam’s sudden appearance explained his niggling feeling of being watched.

“Don’t lie, you missed this mug,” Sam said, waving at his own face before he dug his hand into one of the bags. “Plus, I brought gifts.”

Sam tossed a jar of something orange his way - Bucky caught it, right-handed. He stared at the label, nonplussed.

“Spicy satsuma jam,” Sam said, adjusting his bags over his shoulder. “Got some criolla peppers in there for a kick. I figured we could have it for breakfast tomorrow.” He glanced up towards where a furious fluffy tail was lashing over a branch. “Man, that squirrel really doesn’t like you. Didn’t even make a peep when I slunk under his tree.”

Bucky felt his sigh rock his shoulders. “Steve said you were heading home.”

“Decided to make a pit stop,” Sam said cheekily. He became more reserved the longer he looked at Bucky’s face. “I can head back out if you’re not cool with it. Just wanted to personally check in on how things were going with Loki’s rehabilitation.”

On Bucky’s list of things he was not cool with, Sam’s company wasn’t usually high on the list for more than a few minutes at a time - usually because he was just irritating.

But after what had happened earlier with Loki and Steve…

He felt that shiver threatening to return to his skin, the phantom wanting to reform around him.

He threw the jar back to Sam, deciding he didn’t want to deal with any of that for at least the next hour. “I’m going for a run.” He turned away and set off without waiting for an answer.

Sam’s voice carried to him over the chattering sounds of the angry squirrel. “So was that a no?”

Vibranium clenched down. Nanobot metal scrambled to compensate and defend.

Energy poured into him; Bucky couldn’t tell where he ended and Infinity began.

“No - don’t you dare, Barnes, don’t you fucking dare!”

The perimeter to the property was secure. The only signs of infiltration had been those where Sam had wandered in on foot, probably after being dropped off by a ride near the private, one lane road at its edge.

Bucky would be lying if he said he hadn’t been imagining maybe following that road out and trying his hand at disappearing. He wasn’t sure if going or staying at that point would be the more selfish option.

Whatever he personally wanted was moot, anyway. Now that Captain America had probably already gotten wind of what was happening with him, he might have had his own thoughts about what to do about it. If he’d known what Bucky was thinking of doing at that moment he’d probably call him an overdramatic bitch, to start.

It was dusk by the time he finally dragged himself back towards the house, his lungs burning and his hair clinging to the sweat on his face. He picked up the bag of weeds at the garden fence, throwing in it a bin and pausing at the door for a moment before he twisted the knob to let himself in.

A wall of salt-garlic-spice met his nostrils as he stepped inside, making the hunger in his belly stir up with vindictive force. Sam was on the couch in the living room, his jacket slung over the back of it. His laptop was open and settled on his thighs. In the kitchen, a couple of large sheet pans covered in foil sat on the counter.

Sam spoke without turning to look at him. “Didn’t tell me you’d nearly killed him.”

Bucky blinked, a jolt of adrenaline flooding him. His voice came out sharp. “What?”

Sam turned to give him a pointed look, then nodded towards where Loki was sleeping on the floor. “Steve told me about your little handholding game. Looks like our resident alien overextended himself and set his recovery back a little.”

Oh.

Bucky scowled at that news, cautiously venturing farther into the room. When he looked at Loki he could see a little bit of what Sam was talking about - Loki looked paler, stiller. His skin was cast with some of that grey tinge he’d had at the start of his arrival. He was still breathing, at least, but there was a notably longer period between inhales.

Bucky cursed under his breath, crouching down and reaching out towards Loki’s neck, before he aborted the motion with a twinge of anxiety. He settled for analyzing the movement of Loki’s diaphragm, and the continued lack of wheezing noise as he breathed.

“He’ll probably sleep it off,” Sam said over Bucky’s thoughts, sounding a lot calmer about it than Bucky felt. “Looks like I came back just in time to make sure he gets a few good meals into him.”

Bucky sent Sam a look, getting back to his feet. “A few good meals sounds like more than a pit stop.”

“Maybe it does,” Sam allowed, leaning back against the couch as he closed the laptop. “Is that a problem?”

Bucky pressed his lips into a thin line. “No.”

Sam watched him for a moment longer, then he sighed, shaking his head. “Look, I’ve got a few sources trying to send signals out to Thor to request his return. But you know it’s still an option to see if we can find someone else to help Loki.” He gestured at the downed form beside them. “Obviously there’s some risk seeing as he’s a long way from recovery.”

“No,” Bucky said again, casting his eyes down to the body at his feet. Loki was weak as a kitten and hard as nails at the same time. He’d snap back if he bent, and he’d reform if he broke. Sprout back like the parsley he’d crushed on his arrival.

“No?” Sam prompted.

Bucky stared at Loki’s slack face. “He’s not the problem.”

He could see Sam watching him carefully in his periphery. “Right. You feel like elaborating on that?”

“No,” Bucky said, finally bringing his eyes back up.

“Don’t even know why I asked,” Sam said. “You look beat, man. Go make yourself a plate. Then maybe turn in for a few hours. At least hop in the shower.”

Bucky blinked, then stared pointedly at Sam’s arm, where he could see the edge of a white bandage peeking out from the sleeve pulled tight across his bicep. He didn’t move.

Sam’s brow twitched into a frown, before he followed Bucky’s line of sight. He rolled his eyes and waved him off. “Don’t give me that look. I’ve got some bruises and a tweaked shoulder, but even I can tell I’m feeling a hell of a lot better than you.”

Bucky reluctantly agreed with that last statement. He gave Loki one last look, just to reassure himself he was still breathing, then headed to the kitchen to wash his hands before serving himself dinner. He didn’t bother to retreat to his room with his plate, just stood over the sink and shoveled Sam’s sheet pan meal into his mouth, swallowing bite after bite of spicy chicken and vegetables while eyeing the recently washed blender and noting the small, foil-covered bowl on the counter labeled Loki. When he opened the fridge for a drink to wash everything down, he saw freshly filled smoothie bottles in the door.

Some restless part of him eased a little at the sight. He didn’t bother to go slow with the rest of his meal, downing his drink in desperate swallows and then making a second plate - fuck, how did Sam even manage to make the chicken that tender - before he washed his plate by hand and set it on the drying rack.

By the time he was done, Sam was back to being absorbed in his laptop, typing away while his eyes stared at the screen with quiet focus. Loki was still laid out on his cushions in front of him, exhausted but peaceful. Despite his rediscovered pallor, he still looked like something that was probably supposed to be alive. Bucky let his eyes fall to a lax hand, seeing the cords of muscle that had started to build up enough to be visible on Loki’s wrists and forearms.

He swallowed, turning to head down the hallway before his mind ran away with him.

The guest room door was open; Steve heard him coming and peeked out into the hallway as Bucky reached the door to his own room. “Hey,” he said softly. “You all right?”

Bucky was all right, at least physically. If he’d thought whatever the hell was going on with his arm was at risk of taking him out, maybe he would have been less concerned about it.

“Yeah,” he said, trying not to keep his eyes on Steve for too long while his body was still dancing on that edge of far too keyed up.

“Aphids?” Steve asked, an olive branch to keep the tension low.

Bucky gave a sharp shake of his head, grateful for the safe subject. “Weeds.”

“Sam said you looked like you were having quite the battle.”

“There were a lot of weeds.”

Steve’s smile went a little reserved. His eyes flicked to Bucky’s left arm.

“I’m gonna turn in,” Bucky said before Steve could say anything. “Cap’s orders.”

Steve looked surprised, but nodded. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yeah.”

”Hey, Barnes! I know you’re in there, man. Open up.”

Bucky lowered the gun he’d been aiming at the front door to the house, scowling at the familiar voice. He kept his steps cautious, unlatching the locks on the door and only opening it half a foot.

Sam Wilson stood on the front porch in a baseball cap and sunglasses. His shield bag hung over his back, and there was a weird plant tray on the ground at his feet. “Sorry. Stark told me where you were set up. Thought I’d come check in and see if, you know…”

He looked concerned, like he was hoping Bucky knew something he didn’t. Romanoff had looked the same way when she’d stopped by a couple of weeks earlier; she’d dropped off an expensive bottle of cognac and left without any answers.

“I haven’t seen Steve,” Bucky said, and realized when he did that it had been a while since he’d heard the sound of his own voice.

Sam dipped his head down. “Yeah,” he said in unsurprised resignation. “I just had to check. You know, could have used one or two pointers with the shield before he up and disappeared.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say to that. Sam was a competent flyer and a skilled combatant; he’d figure out the right techniques soon enough.

Sam shook his head like he was trying to shake the melancholy from his body. He sucked in a breath and cast his eyes over the house. “So this is your new place, huh? Stark didn’t skimp out.”

Bucky made a noncommittal noise in response, a fresh flare of discomfort nestling somewhere in his chest.

Sam raised his eyebrows. “So? You’re not gonna show me around? Got you a housewarming gift.” He reached down for the tray on the porch, holding it out to Bucky expectantly.

Bucky slowly put his gun aside, frowning as he took the tray. “What is it?”

Knocking.

Bucky snapped his eyes open, staring groggily at the ceiling, vibranium arm whirring at his side. The knock came again - gentle, but enough to trigger him into full consciousness within a few seconds. He could tell from the dimness at his window that it was still dark outside. There weren’t any accompanying noises that indicated an in-progress or incoming attack on the house.

Steve’s voice sounded through the door, the calm tone serving to emphasize that fact. “Bucky?”

“Yeah,” Bucky answered, slowly pushing himself into sitting, brushing his hair back as he stared down at his black sweatpants.

“Loki’s up.”

“Okay,” Bucky said, growing wary as he wondered what the reason was for bothering him about it. Loki clearly hadn’t done one of his explosive magic freakouts and Sam had been all too eager to take Bucky’s watch and wave him away from any immediate responsibility.

“He’s asking for you.”

Bucky froze, the tingling in his skin starting up with a vengeance, phantom touches of deliberate care hanging over his body, as if there’d been no time between the event and the current replaying memory. It just jumped up again, like goddamn weeds in a garden.

And now Sam was here, too.

Shit.

Maybe jumping out the window and disappearing was still an option.

Chapter Text

The next time he awoke, Loki quickly noted two things: the air smelled heavenly enough that his aching stomach immediately set about a series of plaintive and insistent gurgles, and at some point during his most recent bout of unconsciousness, Captain America had returned.

The dregs of sleep clung to him with lasting fervor, but the second fact was still succeeded by a stimulating burst of wary anxiousness - knowing he was all but helpless, and that there was a body in the room, very near to him, that was not yet counted among those he had tentatively labeled as no immediate threat.

The Captain had come and gone and now had come again, and what he had done in his absence or what he thought of Loki’s lingering presence remained to be seen. And, as always, Loki held precious little ability to sway whatever those around him decided.

Still, there were no armed assailants, Avengers or otherwise, bursting in to drag him away to imprisonment. That did not mean they were not currently on their way, of course - but for now, things remained as they were.

He quietly regarded his visitor, this returned variable that he had not expected so soon. It kept his focus somewhat from the darkness he could see hovering beyond the edge of the room’s windows.

The Captain wore no armor, and seemed unconcerned with Loki’s presence and unaware of his recent waking. He was engrossed in a computer that rested on his lap, his hands tapping gently at the keys. He looked freshly groomed, the lines of his facial hair clean and sharp - wherever he’d been, he’d taken the time before returning to tend to his appearance. The scent of some perfume, earthy and warm, hung about his frame. Loki could see a familiar shield-shape nestled in a bag near his feet, propped against the base of the couch. A weapon kept close.

Loki cast his gaze towards the hall, keeping his movement minimal so as to avoid notice. He could hear soft steps towards the end of it, muffled inside one of the rooms - whether they belonged to Rogers or Barnes, he did not know.

He felt for his magic next. The reformation of it was vague, barely even a spark. Not enough for him to even consider attempting another examination of the remnant stone energies any time soon.

Which meant his single bargaining chip to keep up his recently acquired usefulness to his caretakers was not currently on offer.

The disappointment such knowledge brought was frustrating. He’d thought himself pragmatic enough to understand how worthless his current condition left him, either in the aiding of others or himself. Rogers’s relentless optimism when it came to his recovery must have been swaying his view.

He closed his eyes, resigned, and sighed loud enough that his return to consciousness would be noted. Then, just in case it was not enough, he said, “Did you finally change your mind about allowing my continued freedom?”

He heard a shifting movement, and felt his own face twitch in an uncontrolled flinch. The light from the ceiling pulsed through his skin, reassuring him of its presence even through the barrier of his closed eyelids. He wished it was morning. If they were to drag him out into the dark…

“I see the trust issues haven’t improved,” was the statement that interrupted his tense thoughts.

Loki blinked his eyes open, staring at the half-painted forest on the wall. Rogers looked to have made further progress on it at some point when he’d been unconscious, and more trees had been outlined to join the others. While not aglow, it reminded Loki of Asgard’s lost tapestries. “You were here, and then you were not. I assume you had plenty of opportunities to disclose my location.”

“I had a job,” the Captain explained. “It was time sensitive, and you were kind of deep in dreamland when I headed out, so I wasn’t exactly able to say goodbye.”

“Yet this is not your home, and you found it urgent enough to return here as soon as your task was complete.” Loki lifted a hand, waving it in a display of carelessness that he did not quite feel. “There’s no point in being coy; I haven’t the strength to stop anything you would do.”

Silence descended, broken a few seconds later as the Captain released a sharp breath. “Wow. You know, just when I think I’ve met the most paranoid people there are that could exist, someone else comes along and tries to one-up them.” There was another pause, and the sound of a metallic click and a shifting movement. “Since you need it spelled out - no, I didn’t change my mind about you staying free. In fact, the only person I’ve tried to contact about you being here at all has been Thor.”

Loki frowned, finally tilting his head back to stare at the Captain directly, if upside down. He’d set his computer aside, and was watching Loki with a solemn expression. “Haven’t heard anything back so far. You’ll be one of the first to know if that changes. As for why I’m back here so soon…” He quirked his brow. “That’s not just about you.”

Loki licked his lips, frustrated at the hope that reared its relentless head at the mention of Thor, and his complete inability to cover up his response to it. Not that it mattered - he’d already failed in hiding his feelings for his brother during the crucial event of Thanos’s attack, it was not as if his acting skills would have had the chance to improve in the intervening time since.

“I’m still here to offer a hand if you need it,” the Captain said, some of the hardness leaving his voice. “Speaking of which - you hungry?”

Loki did not answer, still trying to judge the possible danger and unwilling to relax. Where Barnes displayed a consistently forbidding demeanour and Rogers was enthusiastically accommodating, the current Captain America fell somewhere between the two. He watched Loki in a way that gave him the sense his intentions were being measured, and he spoke words that were both assertive and casual.

But Loki did remember falling apart, terrified, barely able to breathe, and that same voice and face speaking with a kind tone, tinged with a particular understanding.

Perhaps his fledgling plans were not about to be completely derailed after all.

“Captain,” he said, allowing his neck to relax and his gaze to return to the painted wall, “as you doubtlessly have already guessed, I have not stopped hungering since my arrival.”

“Cool. I prefer preparing meals for a big group.” Captain Wilson rose from the couch, stretching his arms over his head with a wince, then rubbed at his shoulder. Loki noted the display of pain, watching as the Captain’s tread took him into the kitchen. “Steve told me you’re handling solids really well, so I hope you’re ready for a few days of some of the best damn food you’ve ever had in your life.”

Before, when Loki had been young and unaware of the deprivation his life would bring to him, he might have scoffed at the proclamation.

Now, he felt a stirring of desperate gratitude so strong it brought a sting to his eyes.

He had so many times fallen into the hands of those who’d held no mercy, and faced the brutal consequences. He’d been expecting such again, knowing that the greatest gift he could have hoped for upon his arrival would have been a final death. He would have taken it - taken anything - to escape the endless fall.

But to be offered help...to be offered it so consistently - even if the possibility remained that it was to mask something underhanded that Loki had not yet discerned - and even if it was from someone who knew precious little about him, who held neither the extreme of trust or mistrust, who’d even gone so far as to begin the steps needed to bring Thor back to him, was…

Absurd. It was absolutely, completely, absurd, that his luck should repeatedly take such a favorable turn.

And yet, despite his continued cynicism, it sent Loki’s throat tightening with a now familiar ache.

He brought up a forearm to rest it over his stinging eyes, trying not to consider just how doomed he was.

Rogers wandered into the living room while Loki was still eating, sitting up on the floor, curled intently over the plate in his lap. He looked up in acknowledgment, but could not quite bring himself to stop his active consumption of his meal, shivering as the warmth and flavor of his most recent mouthful settled heavily on his tongue. Captain Wilson was not a man who engaged in idle boasts.

Rogers did not seem to take offense at Loki’s preoccupation, delivering a brief but pleasant nod in greeting before heading into the kitchen.

Captain Wilson was standing over the sink and washing out the emptied bottle that Loki had partaken in first. The mixture of steaming water and soap sent the sharp smell of citrus into the air.

“Need any help?” Rogers asked the Captain, leaning against the counter.

Wilson grabbed a towel, running it vigorously along the inside of the bottle. “Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing.”

Rogers raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t know you had an interest in art.”

“Just point me to where you need the stick figures added in,” the Captain said, then shook his head. “I meant with everything else.”

“Nah, we’re good,” Rogers said easily. “You’re the one with the hard job, now.”

“If you really thought it was hard enough, you wouldn’t be sticking around here.” He set the bottle aside, turning so he and Rogers were face to face. “Speaking of hard jobs, did Buck finally turn in?”

Rogers looked over his shoulder towards the hallway, his eyes meeting Loki’s briefly as he finished his sweep. “I think so. Haven’t heard anything from his room for a few hours.”

“So whatever he’s doing, he’s resting, at least.” Wilson folded his arms, his movements more ginger on the side Loki had seen him favoring earlier. “That’s good. Maybe he’ll come back out a little less pent up.”

“We can hope,” Rogers said.

Loki listened to their discussion with interest, all the while he continued eating until he risked a fullness bordering on discomfort. His body took the nutrients he’d given it gladly, a small but potent measure of energy refilling him, bringing him back to renewed wakefulness and leaving him feeling less like his spirit was inhabiting a drained and discarded flagon.

“I tried to get him to open up, but he wasn’t interested in talking to me,” Captain Wilson said, his expression darkening with concern. “It any different with you yet?”

“No,” Rogers said, then seemed to reconsider. “He did say a few things, the other night. About what happened when Tony had all of the Stones. But he wouldn’t give me any details, and I think I made him more upset than anything just getting that much.”

Wilson glanced towards Loki, briefly. “Funny you should mention Stark.”

Reluctantly, Loki stopped chewing, bringing his head up.

“He’s part of the reason I’m back so soon,” Wilson revealed.

Rogers furrowed his brow. “Does he know?”

“No,” Wilson said. He turned back to Loki, raising his voice. “No one knows you’re here. Now swallow that mouthful before you choke.”

Slowly, brow pinched, Loki began chewing again. He expected Rogers and Wilson to move away, continue their conversation elsewhere so he would not overhear what was said. But they simply stayed where they were in the kitchen, well within hearing range.

“You know Stark,” Wilson said with a sigh. “Trying to act like he doesn’t give a damn, even after he gave so much of one he almost blew himself to pieces to save the world. Twice. Whoever delivered those paints you’re working with must have reported back to him about Barnes. Or he got it in his own head that something was wrong. I don’t know. He just sent me a message saying he’d like me to check up on things.” He directed another furtive glance Loki’s way. “I didn’t tell him I’d already been here.”

His meal finished, Loki pushed his emptied plate away, fully engrossed in what was being said and filing it away for potential future use.

Rogers seemed unperturbed by the words, but his frown had not faded. “Well, you can report back to him that everything’s okay. Tony doesn’t need to worry.”

Wilson shrugged, nodding as he lowered his eyes. “Yeah, I already basically said that.” He sighed, shaking his head. “But based on everything you told me that’s happened recently, are we sure that’s really true?”

Rogers tilted his head, lines marring his brow with deeper shadows, as if the information was something he hadn’t previously considered.

“Look, I’m not trying to insinuate anything,” Wilson said, like a placation. “But there’s clearly something more that’s going on here.”

Loki cleared his throat, loudly enough to stop the conversation and draw attention to himself. “I won’t presume to know much of how this situation with your friend came to be,” he said carefully. “But I have not changed my mind about offering my assistance. Perhaps even sooner, rather than later.”

Rogers and Wilson looked towards each other, then back to Loki.

“You’re feeling better,” Rogers said.

“No, he’s not,” Wilson said, sending Loki a severe look. “By the sounds of it you already overdid it once just giving both these guys a gentle massage. You don’t need to strain yourself again so soon.”

Loki pressed his lips together at the rebuke. “It was mildly more complicated than a massage,” he said. “But your words are noted. In fact, I was actually considering that it presently may be the most opportune moment for me to try again, now that my strength has been so recently renewed by your tremendously delicious meal.”

“Okay, okay, way to lay it on thick,” Wilson said with a look of mild amusement. “I still don’t think we should be bothering Barnes if he’s finally got those wheels of his to slow down.”

“Trust me, Captain,” Loki said, injecting his voice with as much sincerity as he could manage. “Barnes wants very much what aid I have to offer.”

That he was neglecting to mention the exact nature of such aid, and the fact that a large part of it was not going to require magic it all, were both things Wilson and Rogers could overlook, for now. Though Rogers himself would need to be involved soon enough.

“Uh-huh,” Wilson said, still dubious.

“And you are in some need of rest yourself,” Loki pointed out. “That shoulder-”

“Would be hurt rather than helped if I slowed it down too much,” Wilson said sharply, in indication of a clear line he did not wish Loki to cross. “I know what my limits are.”

“Of course,” Loki said calmly, dipping his head, allowing the quiet to linger pointedly.

Rogers blinked, then raised his eyebrows with an amused look, sending a half-smile Wilson’s way.

Wilson directed his gaze ceilingward in frustration. “Hint taken.” He looked towards Rogers, pointing a finger in his direction. “You do it. I’ll deal with a lot, but I’m not taking responsibility for sleepy grumpy bear Barnes.”

Not more than a few minutes later, Barnes was entering the living room, dressed in clinging black and wearing a shadowed expression to match. Rogers flanked him a step behind, a solid and encouraging presence.

Barnes did not look at all encouraged.

“What do you want?” His voice was soft, gravelly, and he watched Loki through the straggling locks that hung loose around his face, unkempt from sleep.

Loki inhaled deeply, centering himself, anticipation and caution warring for supremacy. He very carefully did not think about the feeling of Barnes’s body beneath his hands.

“I thought I might speak with you,” Loki said. When he grasped at his own left hand in an absent-minded fidget, Barnes’s gaze snapped to the movement. Loki noted it with some satisfaction. “Alone.”

“Whoa, wait a minute,” Captain Wilson said, stepping further into the room. “What do you have that you need to say to him that you can’t say in front of us?”

Loki went carefully still, keeping his voice non-confrontational. “Nothing,” he said, which was for the most part true. The issues with Stark he had taken into consideration and decided were ultimately tangential to his current plan. “But I grow tired of the sight that I present.” He reached up to grasp at his own hair, pushing a snarled tangle back behind his ear. “I thought I might request assistance in that area while I offered my own.” He swallowed, knowing that this testing push could very well fail. “And I’m not precisely eager for an audience of many while it takes place.”

Captain Wilson snorted, the line of his teeth bright on his face as the look of accusation quickly fell away. “All right, I’m sorry, man - nevermind. Forget I asked.”

Barnes blinked, his scowl deepening, less willing to agree. “Why the hell do you want me to do it?”

Rogers clapped him on the shoulder, briefly stealing his attention. “You are the one with the most experience.”

“Steve grew his hair out a little while we were on the run,” Wilson said in agreement. “But even he couldn’t hold a candle to that wig you’re wearing. Just go a little easier on Loki than you did those weeds yesterday.”

Barnes looked like he was growing more offended and disgruntled by the second. Loki tried not to allow his curiosity to get the better of him, with so many half-clues being presented to him of potential conflicts the Avengers had faced on Earth. He had his task, now. His chance for repayment. He could not afford to waste energy on distractions.

“And I thought we might discuss your predicament further,” Loki said. Barnes directed his eyes towards him, a muscle jumping in the hollow of his cheek. “It’s only a request.”

The walls that distorted Barnes’s expression did not lower. He simply stared at Loki for a long while, his gaze unreadable.

Then he let it drift towards Loki’s hair, and something in his eyes changed. His shoulders, once a stiff line, lowered a fraction. “All right,” he said, throat working. “Let me go grab a few things.” He turned and padded back to his room.

That had been…even easier than Loki had been expecting. Wilson and Rogers looked mildly stunned.

One battle won.

Somehow, Loki kept himself from smirking. Which was good, because Wilson soon turned towards him in confusion, that measuring look back in his eyes.

Loki did not let himself worry overmuch about the response; it was not as if he intended to harm Barnes. All he wished to do was take that smoldering need he had discovered beneath those layers of ruthless denial and avoidance, coax it forth, tend to it…

And encourage it to ignite.

Chapter Text

Sam leaned back to stare down the hallway, a mystified expression on his face. “Is it just me, or did Barnes look way too excited when he agreed to do this?”

Steve crouched down next to Loki, who readily took the cue to sling his arm over Steve’s shoulder, taking a sharp breath in preparation. He followed Steve up with a steady strength, enough that Steve privately thought he could have probably at least made it most of the way to the bathroom under his own power if he put effort into it.

“I don’t know if I’d call it excited, exactly,” Steve said, carefully adjusting Loki’s arm so his weight would be more equally distributed. “I think he’s just happy Loki’s making such consistent progress.”

Loki gave a humorless snort between deepening breaths. His grip over the back of Steve’s shoulder pressed in with firmness as he carefully adjusted his stance. “So much progress that I’ve lost what little replenishment of my magic that I had managed to regain.”

“Maybe it’ll just come back stronger now that you’re starting to stretch it,” Steve said, letting his hands pointedly fall away so Loki was doing most of the work keeping himself up. “You’re still standing on your own two feet.”

Loki sighed in exasperation and sent Steve a dubious look.

Sam smirked in response. “You’ve been here for weeks and you’re still not used to that?”

A door down the hallway opened and closed. Bucky came back through a moment later, glancing at them briefly as he wandered past, carrying a huge bag slung over his shoulder. He was still wearing his pajamas but his hair had been freshly brushed and pulled back away from his face into a tie. Steve frowned as he watched him disappear into the kitchen-adjacent bathroom, wondering what all was in the bag. From the look of vague surprise on Loki’s face, he was probably wondering the same thing.

Sam caught Steve’s eye, gesturing smugly. “Told you.”

Steve helped Loki into the bathroom once Bucky called out that he was ready for them to come in. The room was warm, the fan overhead humming gently as it combated the humidity from steaming water. Rustic walls and cabinets bordered a wide alcove tub with a tall window set beside it showing a view of the trees. Bucky was crouched with his sleeves pulled up to his elbows, pulling out the last of the bag’s contents and setting them neatly along the edge of the tub and the floor.

Sam squeezed in through the doorway behind them, eyes narrowing on the scene. “Is that a bath pillow?”

Bucky shrugged, setting a strange handful of what looked like brightly colored blue netting on the ledge at the head of the tub before straightening. “Had it in storage.”

Steve slowly lowered Loki to sit on the closed toilet seat lid, taking in the assortment of products on display. If you’d asked him what he’d thought Bucky would bring to help Loki he would have said a bar of soap, shampoo, and conditioner. But it looked more like Bucky had gone out and raided the entire bath section of a boutique store. There were actual bars of soap, but there were also a few jars labeled as whipped soaps and body scrubs and other things that were far outside of Steve’s realm of experience.

Steve hadn’t even known any of it was in the house. Bucky had always just smelled of mint after his showers.

Sam folded his arms, still looking mildly baffled. “Okay, next question: did you go out and buy the pillow for Loki, or did you pick it up for yourself?”

“Neither,” Bucky said, voice going lower and more faint as he averted his eyes. “It was in the house when I got it.”

Sam gestured at the containers lined up on the edge of the tub advertising a variety of scents, and the weird fibrous netting and sponges and brushes beside them. “And what about all the other stuff?”

“Some of it was here already. Some of it’s mine. Some of it’s from Wakanda.” Bucky let his gaze slide sideways towards Loki. “Didn’t know what you’d prefer.”

Loki, who’d been letting his eyes track over the spread of items laid out, shot them up towards Bucky with just as much confusion on display as the rest of them were feeling.

“Covering all your bases,” Sam said, approval quickly displacing his earlier shocked questioning. “Those Wakandans don’t mess around with hair care. Don’t think I didn’t notice that volume and sheen when you showed up before the battle with Thanos.”

Bucky shrugged again. “Well, Shuri had a few pointers for ‘greasy white boy hair.’”

Steve noted that while his voice carried a casual joking tinge, Bucky was now steadfastly avoiding Loki’s stare. Meanwhile, Loki absolutely refused to look away from Bucky; his gaze was shining and locked so intensely that Bucky had to have noticed it.

“It’s been paying off,” Steve said to Bucky, meaning it. He looked towards Loki, keeping his voice light. “Looks like you made the right choice picking him.”

“It would seem so,” Loki murmured, still studying Bucky closely.

Bucky swallowed, expression going flatter as the silence stretched. His eyes flicked between Steve and Sam. “You guys are supposed to get out, now.”

A few minutes later, Steve was sitting on the couch in the sunlit living room next to Sam, his sketchbook open in his lap and a pencil loose in his hand. The page was a blank, bright white in the streaming sunlight.

Loki’s spot in the living room sat empty, with freshly folded blankets and pillows bordering the cushion. Steve and Sam had loaded the washing machine so the used ones could be cleaned.

Steve could hear voices drifting from the bathroom, pitched too low to be intelligible.

“I might turn in for a few hours as soon as this all goes well,” Sam said, voice a loud and clear contrast. He rubbed tiredly at his forehead before he took a drink from a half empty glass of ice water. “Think you can swing sending Barnes out to the garden after lunch? I’d like to get the last of those tomatoes for dinner.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, trying to strain to see if he could make out anything specific from the next room. He heard the pipes come on, and the gentle trickle of water into water.

“I’m not gonna be surprised if he’s been overwatering them,” Sam said. “Sweetness might be a little compromised if that’s the case. But I can make do.”

“Yeah,” Steve said again, still staring at Loki’s bedding. He tapped his pencil against the blank page. “Sure.”

“And some red potatoes. Don’t listen to him if he tries to tell you it’s too hard on the plant to harvest them that late in the day. He has the precision to throw a knife into someone’s carotid from half a hundred yards away, he can use a little of that focus to bring in a pound for me to roast.”

The sound of sloshing water intensified. Bucky and Loki were still talking, quiet and easy.

“I’ll let him know,” Steve said. He was trying to imagine what the interaction inside the bathroom looked like, Bucky crouched beside the bath with his long shirtsleeves rolled up to keep the fabric from getting wet, his hands gently manipulating the strands on Loki’s head. Was Bucky scowling and suspicious? Or worried and keeping his movements overly cautious?

Or was he finding something in working with Loki like the peace he got with his garden?

Because Sam was right: Bucky had seemed like he’d really wanted to do it.

Sam finally looked at Steve, then down at the untouched sketchbook, then back at Steve. “You seem a little preoccupied.”

Steve shook his head, shifting back against the couch as he finally broke his stare. “No,” he said, letting a reassuring smile pull over his face as he turned his attention to Sam. “They just…haven’t exactly been relaxed around each other since-”

“Ever?” Sam interrupted. He pursed his lips, glancing towards the bathroom door. “You’re talking about two extremely wound up people. Maybe it’s easier for them to see where the other is coming from.”

Steve looked down at his lap. He wasn’t sure how it being put like that made him feel, exactly.

Sam took another drink from his glass. If it had been anyone else, maybe the silence would have stretched the longer Steve let it. But Sam didn’t let things hang.

“Steve,” Sam said, his voice insistent. “Man, I don’t want to sound like I’m accusing anything, or trying to pry, but…are you jealous?”

Steve blinked in surprise, taken completely off guard. He meant to respond immediately with something, any kind of reason why he wasn’t - because of course he wasn’t, that was ridiculous - but in that instant his normally quick-witted head decided to not be that cooperative.

Sam raised his hands. “No judgment, that kind of thing’s just part of being human. I was just kind of shocked. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that look on you before.”

Steve let his head dip back down, a feeling of self-deprecation filling him. “I guess I should tone it down a little.”

“If anyone in this house needs to tone it down, it’s definitely not you,” Sam said with certainty. His eyes softened. “You said you’ve had some talks with Barnes. Anything involving…” He gestured with his glass towards Steve and then the bathroom.

Steve quirked his eyebrow. “Bucky bathing Loki?”

“No,” Sam said sharply, amusement forming on his face and disappearing in a flash. “Anything involving your feelings. Yours, specifically.”

Steve went quiet, closing his sketchbook and setting his pencil flat against the cover. “You said I should be careful of walls.”

“No, I told you to be prepared for them,” Sam corrected. “I didn’t say you should put up your own.”

Steve shook his head. “It’s not exactly the subject I think Bucky’s really interested in talking about right now.”

“Did he tell you that? Or are you just thinking that?”

Not exactly, Bucky hadn’t. But he’d made it clear he had no problem telling Steve when he didn’t like where their conversations were being steered.

“He told me I deserved my peace in the past,” Steve said, his throat suddenly feeling tight. He could hear the distant echo of the Harry James Orchestra, and feel the gentle sway of Peggy’s warm body against his. “I told him that it didn’t end up working out that way.”

Sam looked at Steve solemnly, rubbing his thumb against the edge of his glass. “Right. And how did he look when he told you that?”

“Upset,” Steve said. He tried to bring his focus back to the present. “Like he was going to run.”

“So his normal expression,” Sam said dryly. “And you tried to convince him where you wanted to be, right?”

“He didn’t want me touching him directly,” Steve said, and that fact finally spoken out loud made his stomach viciously clench. “I didn’t want to push it. He’s been through a lot. Whatever’s going on with his arm has him really shaken.” Steve shook his head. “And I don’t think I’m helping his stress levels as it is.”

But Loki was. At least, Bucky was clearly a lot more willing to risk having his skin touched by him than he was Steve.

“You know, you’re not entirely right about that,” Sam said, breaking into his brooding thoughts.

Steve looked at him sidelong, frowning.

Sam sighed, leaning down to gently set the glass on the floor beside him. “I never told you. Because honestly, it’s not really my place to.” He turned his eyes back over to the bathroom door and laced his fingers together, still leaning forward over his knees. “Back when you were gone, he wasn’t doing so hot. Potts and Stark gave him this huge ass property with this huge ass house to settle in, fully stocked, pantry and all. But the first time I stopped by, he looked like he’d dropped about twenty pounds and hadn’t slept in weeks.”

Steve felt his lips part. He’d thought - Bucky had been doing well, when he’d left. He’d been given a new, state of the art arm. His triggers were gone, and besides the Avengers who’d risked themselves to fight beside him, he had one of the strongest support networks on the planet in the form of Wakanda. He’d given Steve his blessing when it came to their parting. He’d even told Steve he’d been looking forward to getting a taste of what freedom would bring him.

Sam went on, each new word digging the claws of guilt deeper. “Nothing was plugged in; I had to set up his entertainment system for him. And give him a damn phone so I could text him, because he’d ripped out the landline and hadn’t replaced it with anything. He kept the curtains closed tight and his gun near him at all times. He walked around like the house was gonna bite him.”

Steve listened quietly, forming the picture in his head - Bucky, hypervigilant as he’d been when Steve had found him in Romania, but thinner, with no drive to keep himself physically robust.

He felt like his heart was a swollen weight in his chest.

“The only way I could get him to stop all that was to come out and train with me,” Sam said, jerking his chin towards the shield where it rested propped against the couch. “Had to figure out the learning curve of the physics on that hunk of metal anyway. And it was good having a superhuman partner to keep my reflexes sharp. And…I just figured he could use someone keeping an eye on him for a little while.”

“I’m glad he had you around,” Steve said, the pulses of emotion refusing to die down. No wonder Bucky had been keeping him at arm’s length.

“Not sure he was,” Sam said. “Not until the day he dragged himself all the way out of his funk. Started going out on his own. Picked up things here and there that he actually liked for himself. He got obsessed with being outside, making his little plot, watching things grow. Then he got into cooking, next - like the food was okay to eat if it came from outside the house.” Sam shook his head. “But when you finally showed up again? Night and day. Eating full course meals. Actually using more of the stuff he’d been gifted. Still acts like the whole world is shady as shit and out to get him, but not so much he forgets to take care of himself.” Sam jerked his head towards the bathroom door meaningfully. “Or other people.”

“I can’t take credit for that,” Steve said. “Bucky’s always been a fighter.”

“Steve,” Sam said. “I’m not discounting that. He did end up surviving just fine without you. All I’m saying is that you still make him happy. It’s not you he’s worried about, not like that. Just like I know it wasn’t me he was worried about when he cooled things down between us.”

Steve looked back towards the bathroom door. Bucky and Loki had gone quiet; even the sounds of gently lapping water had diminished.

“Talk to him,” Sam said. “Maybe give him a little something more than ‘I was trying to get a life’ as an explanation for leaving. Because if he’s not that worried about Loki, and he’s not worried about you or me, there’s only one person left for him to be really worried about.”

Steve looked at Sam. “You don’t seem upset with me for what happened.”

“That’s because I have a well rounded sense of self-esteem and know I’m amazing to be around. I didn’t take it personally when you came back from the 40s and shoved that shield into my hands and then high-tailed it into nonexistence.”

Steve sent Sam a look.

Sam looked a little sheepish. He held his hand up and pinched his fingers close together. “Okay, maybe like, that much personally.” He dropped his hand, raising his eyes ceilingward, chest expanding as he looked away. “Maybe a lot.”

Steve swallowed. “I didn’t mean to cause a problem.”

“Yeah,” Sam said breathily, reaching out and slapping his hand against Steve’s shoulder with a meaningful strength. “I know that, man.” He let his hand fall. “My point is, I’m not sure Bucky does.”

Steve sighed deeply, taking that statement for the truth it was. “Thanks for telling me, Sam.”

“Yeah, just warn me if you let any of that slip to him.” He grabbed his shield bag, pulling himself off the couch with a groan. “I’ll need to make sure I’ve got the shield on hand when he tries to kick my ass.”

Steve looked back towards the bathroom door as Sam headed to the guest room for his nap. He couldn’t hear any sounds on the other side, no low voices or water sloshing.

He wanted Sam to be right about what Bucky felt. He wasn’t sure how selfish he was going to be if he was more assertive about pushing things along. Bucky probably felt like there were a lot more important things at stake right now.

Loki would be helping him in that area. Was probably helping him in that area, right that moment, just a door away.

Steve sighed again, and opened his sketchbook back up.

Steve walked up the driveway towards the house, staring at the blossoming plants in the middle of the half-constructed fence, and the lumber spread off to the side. The ground was still moist from a recent rain, the sun not quite peeking out from an overcast sky.

He came to a stop on a forest green doormat, adjusted his bag over his shoulder, and carefully reached his hand up to knock.

The door opened a few moments later. Bucky stood on the other side, lips parted as he stared at Steve. He wore heavy boots and black jeans, along with a grey shirt and a dark jacket. His hair was still long, but from the way he’d tied it back Steve couldn’t tell if he’d been trimming it up or just letting it grow out since they’d last seen each other.

“Steve,” Bucky said, voice soft.

“Buck,” Steve greeted. He studied the lines of Bucky’s face, the light dusting of stubble along his jaw. He seemed okay. “Your place looks nice.”

“It is nice,” Bucky said, tone pitched as if he was offended. “Does this mean people are gonna stop bothering me trying to figure out where you went?”

Steve relaxed at the humor, a twinge of guilt-ridden sadness stirring in his gut. “Sure.” He reached out and clasped his hand against Bucky’s shoulder, letting the steady body beneath his hand fill him with that friendly warmth he’d been missing. “Now they’ll just bother you because you’re easily bothered.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. He glanced at Steve’s bag. “You planning on Avenging again?”

Steve grimaced; he had his vibranium arm shields stored in the bag, but mostly it was full of sketchbooks and a change of clothes. “Not exactly,” he said. “If the Avengers really need me, I’ll jump back in. Sam says they’re good for now.” He shrugged. “I’ve got another job - a self-help group I used to run before everyone came back. First return session’s tomorrow.”

A smile stretched Bucky’s lips, and if it was a little too tight it was gone before Steve could be sure. “You wanna come in, then? I was just making lunch.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “That sounds great.”

Chapter Text

Bucky had been on the receiving end of plenty of wary, confused, and downright distrustful looks from Loki since meeting him, but the one he was getting now was telling him he had reached some kind of peak.

Not that he didn’t get it - he was standing awkwardly in the middle of the humid bathroom next to the steaming tub, presenting a pair of bags meant to lace the water with calming scents.

It wasn’t exactly the way he’d thought the morning would turn out, either. But the way Loki stared at him, he felt like he might as well have been brandishing a pair of knives.

He was used to being looked at that way. And it wasn’t like there was no level of merit to that line of thinking, even from someone who didn’t really have much of an idea of everything he’d done. The fact that Bucky was in full control of his own mind and was distinctly not planning on causing any damage to Loki didn’t mean it wouldn’t happen. They both knew it. Loki was still too physically fragile to discount it, and Bucky was…the guy who’d accidentally shattered Loki’s shoulder during their first waking encounter.

It still didn’t mean Bucky had to like it.

“You don’t need to look at me like that,” Bucky said, unable to help the irritation that seeped into his voice as he lowered his hands. Maybe it had been a bad idea to agree to do this. He glanced at the bathroom door, wondering how close Steve and Sam were, and if he could just give them a rundown of what he’d been planning and have one of them take care of it.

Loki blinked rapidly; some of the wariness fell away. “My apologies,” he said, hands pinching at each other in his lap. “What exactly was the question again?”

The change was too fast, too agreeable.

Bucky took it all the same, letting it help him ride out the sting as he held the bags back up, trying and failing to feel a little less ridiculous. Loki had asked for this, after all - maybe not this specifically, but he’d given Bucky a direct request. “Do you want lavender oatmeal or green tea and chamomile?”

“So I didn’t mishear,” Loki said, furrowing his brow. “I’ve already eaten.”

“They’re not to eat,” Bucky said. “They go in the water.”

Loki didn’t go back to looking like he was having second thoughts, and he didn’t laugh or scoff or tell Bucky he was crazy. His expression of confusion was still there, but now there was a hint of curiosity coming in alongside it. He looked between the bags. “Why would they go in the water I’m to bathe in?”

“So it smells good and keeps the heat in better,” Bucky said. “And they’re supposed to be good for your skin.” He shrugged, looking at the bags himself. “Well, I’m assuming they’ll work on aliens.”

“I see.” Loki narrowed his eyes, looking from the items in Bucky’s hand and back to his face. “And which is your preference?”

Bucky swallowed. “I don’t use these.”

The curiosity on Loki’s expression sharpened through his confusion. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t take baths,” Bucky said, wanting that part of the subject to get dropped. He held his hands out, carefully telegraphing, though it looked like Loki was too busy still being baffled by the situation to flinch. “You can smell them before you decide. Or I can just toss them both if you don’t like them.”

Loki flicked his eyes to the bags and again up to Bucky’s face, then cautiously nodded his assent. Bucky brought up first one, then the other bag, letting him take in their aromas.

A look of surprise and then consideration crossed Loki’s face when Bucky was finished. “Let me check the one on the right once more,” he requested.

Bucky held it out obligingly, then froze as Loki casually reached up and firmly gripped his arm. Bucky’s sleeves were rolled up, which meant Loki’s hand was pressed against his skin, fingers encircling his bare wrist, all those phantom touches that had been haunting him since the examination in the living room made real again.

Distantly, Bucky was aware of the fact that Loki was only using the limb to stabilize himself as he leaned forward. It didn’t stop his body from sending a stream of effusive signals to his brain.

He set his jaw and stayed carefully, deliberately still.

“That one, I think,” Loki said, his fingers sliding slowly from Bucky’s wrist, running along his pulse point on their way.

Bucky breathed out and gave a terse nod, keeping his expression flat as he turned to drop the bag of lavender into the water, staring at the golden-pink hued sunrise through the fogging window as the bathroom filled.

There was the shifting of cloth behind him. When he turned back around, he saw that Loki had pulled his shirt off over his head, and was holding it balled up in his lap as he looked down at his own chest in chagrin.

Bucky, for his part, was surprised Loki didn’t look worse - he’d officially passed the transition from skeletal into slender. But then, Bucky’d seen up close and personal the shitshow that had been Loki’s body upon his arrival after literal years in space, residual broken neck and all.

“I will need assistance with the rest,” Loki said quietly, not meeting Bucky’s eyes. He kept his thin arms close to his body, like he was self-consciously hiding himself from view.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, the skin of his wrist still tingling. “Just tell me to stop if I hurt you.”

Loki blinked in surprise, then slowly dropped the shirt to the floor. The look of irony Bucky was sent didn’t make him feel better. “I am willing to risk much if it means this is successful.”

“I know,” Bucky said, the echo of breaking bone running through his head. He clenched his fists. “I’m not.”

He didn’t get a response of surprise or confusion from Loki at those words. Instead, a brief, close-mouthed smile stretched across his face as he gave Bucky an appraising look. “Believe me, Barnes - I honestly did not expect otherwise.”

At least there was that. “Good.”

Loki looked down, shaking his head in amusement, his tangled hair falling forward. Then he tilted it back up to regard Bucky, his hands hanging slack between his legs. “Well, then. Shall we?”

Bucky made the deliberate choice to not pull his sleeves back down before he wordlessly stepped forward. Loki watched him expectantly, and as soon as he was close enough, fluidly reached up to brace a hand against his metal shoulder. Bucky kept his misgivings to himself and just let himself be a support as Loki took the initiative with pushing down the plaid pajama pants. The tremor from the hand against Bucky’s shoulder he was mostly sure was just strain from Loki putting most of his weight on that single arm as he worked, and not genuine worry that Bucky would break him.

Loki let his hand drop from Bucky’s shoulder when they were done, instead grasping firmly at his arm - the one that was skin and bone, even though it was the metal one that was closest to him. Bucky didn’t question it, and the task of getting Loki into the tub without him falling and breaking his hips and his spine and possibly his skull took enough of his mental energy that he was able to keep moving through the feel of that hand on him. His heart pumped blood furiously as he reached out his vibranium hand to steady Loki as he stepped over the side of the tub, turned, and then lowered himself down. Bucky went down with him, Loki holding his wrist for balance while Bucky kept the other braced beneath Loki’s armpit, the pressure leaving red marks but nothing openly bleeding or broken.

Once he was nearly fully settled into the water Loki’s look of concentration broke and he gasped, his eyelids fluttering closed as his hand dropped from Bucky’s wrist. Bucky quickly released Loki in turn, watching as he leaned his head back against the bath pillow, his long legs sinking beneath the sloshing surface of the sizable tub.

“Oh,” Loki said, a full body shudder coursing through him, settling down until everything beneath his chin was submerged. “And what is the reason that you do not partake in baths?”

Bucky stayed crouched once Loki was settled, knowing the bruises were still there beneath the gentle foam layer. “I prefer showering.” He glanced towards inky black hair. Time for the hard part. “Lift your head up for a second.”

Loki obliged, letting Bucky gather his hair out from beneath him so he spread it out over the wide lip of the tub; his eyes were still closed. “Because it is easier to defend yourself if you remain on your feet?”

Bucky paused, but didn’t say whether or not Loki’s casual suggestion was right. He carefully took a palmful of bathwater, and used it to start gently dampening the rat’s nest of hair.

Loki turned his face towards the window as the silence stretched, like he could see the creep of the sunlight’s approach through his closed lids.

Bucky up the first products - a selection of conditioners to help start the detangling process before he moved on to the proper wash. He uncapped each in turn. “You want to tell me which of these you prefer me to use?”

“Barnes,” Loki said, not opening his eyes. His voice had a tightness to it now that it hadn’t before. “I spent hundreds of years using magic for my grooming needs. I daresay even your limited lifespan has given you more experience in that realm.”

Wanna bet? Bucky thought, but didn’t say. “So no.” He started looking between the options, hoping there wasn’t a danger of anything among them Loki was going to find distasteful. “This is going to take a while,” Bucky said, wanting to give fair warning.

Loki hummed a noncommittal noise, limbs shifting beneath the water. When he blinked his eyes open, they held a strong watery sheen, the whites tinged red around the blue of his irises. He didn’t turn away from the window. “What do you require of me?”

“Nothing much, right now,” Bucky said. “Just tell me if you think you’re going to freak out.”

Loki closed his eyes again. “And why is that a concern?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky said. “Maybe the water would remind you of space.”

Loki exhaled in sharp amusement, that razor-thin smile from before splitting his face, but now it held a distinctly grim edge. “Space does not smell of lavender oatmeal.” He tilted his head vaguely in Bucky’s direction. “Or of mint.” While Bucky belatedly processed the fact that Loki had been noticing what Bucky smelled like after he showered, Loki blinked his eyes open, turning his gaze to the brightening sky outside the window. His voice grew faint. “And I saw no sunrises. Felt no warmth. Had no air to breathe, nor food to sustain me.”

Loki’s limbs shuddered against porcelain, and his throat bobbed around a harsh swallow. His cheeks were wet, and not from Bucky being careless with the water.

Bucky set a bottle down and dipped his hand into the bath to make sure it was still retaining plenty of heat. He was probably going to need to change it out once or twice to keep it from going cold.

“So not a problem,” he said, drawing his hand back out, ignoring the ache in his stomach. He finally uncapped the chosen conditioner, scooping out the thick contents.

Loki snorted, the movement of his chest sending the water lapping against the sides of the tub. His following inhale was shaky and wet. “I have a request of my own I would make.”

Bucky, who’d been carefully spreading the product over his right hand, paused and looked up. “What?”

Loki turned back to Bucky and stared at him directly, eyes swimming with tears. The look was at odds with the assertiveness that came with his voice. “That you please not stop if I weep.”

Bucky exhaled heavily, frowning. “I think we’re a little late for ‘if.’”

Loki raised his eyebrows. “And?”

“And I’m not stopping,” Bucky said. To punctuate his point he finally reached over and started to smooth the thick conditioner over Loki’s damp, tangled hair.

Loki shuddered harder at the contact, his eyelids slamming shut and his brow pulling together, tears falling freely down his cheeks as his breathing hitched. Bucky carefully worked, saturating everything he could reach without getting his fingers snagged in the knotted strands. He used his left arm sparingly; the lines of vibranium were smooth enough that he’d never had much of a problem getting his hair caught between the plates, but it had been a common enough issue with the one HYDRA had welded onto him that he instinctively avoided it with the new one.

He hoped like hell this worked. If nothing else, Loki would come out free of grease and grit, and they could figure something else out later.

If nothing else, a repeat attempt wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Not when Loki was enjoying what was happening so much that he was crying with it, the same as he did with his meals.

There was also a chance it would go on way too long and he would pass out. Bucky kept half an eye on the signs that would precede that as he began a mental countdown for the allotted time needed for the product to sit and perform its function, keeping up a gentle rhythm of petting motions.

Eventually, Loki seemed to calm, his breaths evening out. Bucky didn’t miss the way he was leaning into every light touch over his scalp.

“Which of you decided on the clothes for me?” Loki asked, out of the blue. His voice was still a little too ragged around the edges, but the tears had slowed.

“Steve,” Bucky said, cupping some more water in his vibranium hand and letting it dribble over Loki’s hair to help further coat the strands. “Do you like those pants?”

Loki looked confused again, then breathed out in soft amusement. “Why? Did you happen to bring an entire wardrobe for me to choose from as well?”

“No,” Bucky said. “But you can pick something later if you want a change. Or we can order something new for you.”

Loki opened his red-rimmed eyes. He glanced pointedly at the discarded bag of green tea and chamomile on the floor. “You are very concerned with personal choice.” Then he looked at Bucky’s shirt, before running his gaze down to the sweatpants. “I’ve not seen you wear this much black before.”

Bucky scowled, pausing in his movements. “Is that a problem?”

Loki hummed, his eyes drifting towards the vibranium arm before they again fell shut. “No. Please…continue.”

Bucky sighed, less than convinced. He guessed it had been too much to hope for that Loki would just lay back and quietly let him perform his task. He should have been used to this type of scrutiny by now.

So Bucky didn’t take baths. So he wanted Loki to know all of his options. So he hadn’t felt like wearing anything with color over the metal arm or the rest of his body considering what was happening with it.

That last part wasn’t exactly some secret that needed to be pried out of him with the hyper-intelligent guile of the highly observant.

Bucky’s mental clock said that the prep conditioner had enough time to do the work closing the cuticles to help loosen up the knots and protect the hair before they moved on to the cleansing stage. He reached for the selection of shampoos and soaps, and found Loki watching him through half-lidded eyes.

“More choices?”

“Yeah.”

Loki shifted, pulling his head away from the pillow to sit up in the tub. He beckoned Bucky with a hand; his body seemed steady. “Let’s have them.”

The detangling process, when they finally got around to it, wasn’t at all as terrible as Bucky had been anticipating. A lot of that probably had to do with his insistence on using the products to the letter so they did as much of the work as possible before his direct involvement in separating the knots.

And god, was it satisfying. Bucky took a wet brush to Loki’s ends, carefully running it through the strands while keeping pressure on the hair above the spots he was working so it wouldn’t pull directly on Loki’s scalp. It took multiple passes for each section to completely unwind, Bucky fully focused on finding the center to each problem area before he moved on to the next.

Closer to the scalp it was trickier, without the separation needed to protect Loki from direct pulling against his skin. Bucky took a break to reapply more conditioner, then partially drained and refilled the bath with newly heated water, and put in a fresh bag of lavender before he finally made the attempt.

The first set of tangles he encountered there were particularly stubborn, and he felt a jolt when Loki’s face tightened up in pain. But Loki didn’t tell him to stop, or twitch away, or even open his eyes. And when Bucky checked, there wasn’t any catastrophic damage to his skull, not even any redness to indicate the danger of it. So he made himself go back in, twice as slow, alternating between using the fingers of his right hand to manipulate the knots and painstakingly careful brushing.

When all Loki was left with was completely detangled hair, Bucky couldn’t quite believe it. And when he was finally able to run the bristles of the brush directly over Loki’s scalp without snagging on any of the fall of hair beneath it, the noise Loki made was…

Well, if he hadn’t just been present for everything that had happened, Bucky would have thought something else was going on.

He’d gotten it done. Loki’s hair hung smooth and shiny over his shoulders, already starting to curl at the ends in the absence of any more manipulation. The entire process had taken long enough that the sun was pouring in through the window and over the tub at full strength.

Loki looked so blissed out that Bucky wasn’t even sure he was still on the same plane of existence anymore.

So he hadn’t fucked it up. Loki was still in one piece. When Bucky carefully parted the hair at his scalp, obsessively checking for any damage to the skin, he didn’t find any.

Bucky felt his shoulders release the last of his tension, and started gathering the bottles of products to put them away. “I’m done,” he announced.

A heavy sigh came from the tub. “How disappointing,” Loki said, apparently still mentally present after all. He blinked his eyes open, turning towards Bucky. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Bucky said. As he was reaching for another bottle to store, his metal arm was intercepted by Loki’s sudden grasp.

Bucky, very carefully, did not try to pull away. He knew if he did Loki would have been leaving the bathroom with clean detangled hair and a newly dislocated arm. “What are you doing?”

Loki’s throat worked, his fingers curling against vibranium, arm dripping water where it hung over the edge of the tub. He didn’t let go. “I…would like to offer something in return.”

“I said don’t mention it,” Bucky said sharply, his tension fully back.

Loki tapped at the vibranium, still not releasing his grip. “I might try and see if I could draw the power from you.”

“What?”

“The residues that concern you,” Loki clarified. “I could see if I could take them into my own body. It’s possible they could even help restore my strength.”

That sounded like the worst kind of bullshit. “No.”

Loki tightened his lips. “I highly doubt any power I gathered would be enough to cause you worry.”

“In your condition it doesn’t need to be powerful to leave you severely damaged.” Finally, he felt Loki’s grip slacken enough that he could gently pull his hand away and go back to tidying up. “You’ve been hanging around Steve too much.”

Loki was staring at Bucky with a weird look, like he’d just said something shocking. He composed himself a few seconds later. “That would only be likely if it was potentially damaging to me,” Loki said. “And since you have not been consumed by it, I’d hazard a guess that it is very much not.” Loki tilted his head, and held out his hand again. “This is what you want, is it not?”

Bucky stopped what he was doing, staring into the middle distance. There was something about the offer that didn’t make sense, sending warning signals up and down his back. Something off.

Or maybe it did make sense, and Bucky was just seeing more snakes where there were only branches.

“Barnes,” Loki said, coaxingly, followed by the sound of water sloshing. Bucky felt fingers close insistently around his wrist, this time the one made of flesh and bone. He closed his eyes and breathed. “You and your friends have bestowed upon me gift after gift after wondrous gift. Will you not allow me to reciprocate?”

Bucky didn’t mention that those things - adequate food, a comfortable place to sleep, the ability to get clean, and stay warm, and see the goddamn sun- were all incredibly basic necessities, and only seemed like gifts to Loki because he’d spent five years without them, in the worst kind of hell.

Bucky knew what it was like, getting given things you didn’t think you deserved.

And he did want what Loki was offering. What he was offering outright, that was. Bucky wasn’t so much of an idiot that he couldn’t see the hints of what else was being insinuated by Loki’s words, mostly because he knew by now that Loki wasn’t so much of an idiot that he didn’t see it himself.

Whether or not he believed Loki could actually do what he promised, or that it was a good idea to try at all, now or ever, especially with the way his mind was circling insistently on that grip…

Loki tugged gently at him. Bucky allowed himself to be turned with the movement, drawn around until he was facing the tub. Loki was upright in the bath, on his knees, most of his lower half hidden beneath the water. The sunlight from the window behind him was casting brightly over his bare shoulders, the bruises he’d gotten from Bucky helping him into the tub long gone. He reached out to brace his other hand against Bucky’s chest, dampening the black fabric.

“There we are,” Loki said approvingly. He looked Bucky over before he met his eyes, shaking back a lock of hair that was clinging to his face. He released Bucky's right arm and reached for vibranium next, drawing up the limb between them and running his thumb over the inside of the metal wrist. His touch left a sheen of moisture over the surface.

Bucky went carefully, deliberately still.

“May I?” Loki asked. His gaze was open, inviting, lips tilted up in a small but genuine smile. He wasn’t crying anymore, and the puffiness in his eyes had receded, healed as fast as the bruises.

He looked clean, and rejuvenated, and less like he’d crumple from one wrong move from Bucky.

He even looked - hell, he looked almost trusting.

Definitely not the way Bucky had been expecting the morning to turn out.

You don’t need to look at me like that, Bucky tried to say, but the words dried out in his throat, swallowed up by the way Loki was touching his prosthetic. There was an assuredness, a confidence to the handling that hadn’t been there during the last examination.

Bucky thought he nodded. He was pretty sure he did.

He became only mildly more sure of that when the smile in front of him grew, and the hand against his chest curled until the fabric of Bucky’s shirt was pulled tight in Loki’s grasp.

“Wonderful.”

Chapter Text

Here then they were at a turning point.

Against Loki’s hands, Barnes’s strong and steady body had gone almost statue-still. The only movements he made were of careful, measured breaths as they expanded through his warm, broad chest.

Yet where before the action had been of a ruthless denial of motion, his hardened gaze cast aside as if by not seeing Loki he could remain ignorant of what was happening, this time Barnes remained…open. Attentive. He knelt before Loki on one knee, the wariness to his expression not quite entirely chased away, but more than enough diminished.

Loki supposed it was hard to be concerned about the damage you could do to another or the damage they could do to you after spending the better part of a morning tending to them so gently.

Had Loki known how the entire bathing process would have affected him, specifically, perhaps he would not have so readily proposed it.

Because in his plan to sway Barnes, Loki had made a slight underestimation of just how efficiently undone he would become beneath those cautious, tender hands.

More than undone, he thought. He’d broken. If Barnes had not agreed to continue the process despite Loki’s weeping, he might have even begged.

Even now, the memory of it coursed through him, inspiring a shiver. The constant discomfort that had plagued his sensitive scalp was now all the more obvious in the absence of the tangles that had besieged it.

He could not recall the last time he had felt such a touch, or even who would have bestowed it. It had to have been hundreds of years, spanning back to when he’d been a child, far before the hardships that life would cast upon him in an unrelenting cascade.

There had been promise of it during his final contact with his brother, with the hug they had shared the day that destiny had arrived. He’d thought of it often in the small moments after Thor’s coronation, wondering at its meaning. And then, he’d thought of it not at all, beyond the frantic flashing thoughts of a mind tormented to perpetual half-dead desperation.

Sentiment. In his sacrifice of himself to Thanos for Thor’s life, Loki found out exactly what such a change had meant, and came to an acceptance of that once-hated part of himself.

It was not as if his mad and vicious attempt at disowning it had ever afforded him any significant benefit.

The presence of it now had gotten him here - clean and warm, with sunlight beaming upon his back, and feeling more like himself than he had in years. Even the ruins of his magic were sparking once more within his body, the seeds of returning blooms from his previous overextension. All the while Thor still lived.

And he now had Barnes staring into his eyes, with no signs of rage or any obvious urge to flee.

The last time Loki had sought out the remnant energies of the stones, his movements had been conscious of any building reaction of violence.

He knew better, now.

It would also seem that he had finally convinced Barnes to know better.

The time for caution had passed. Barnes had given his last protest - against the potential for harm Loki could direct against himself - and had finally subsided, allowing unbridled contact.

Loki let his hand fall to the hem of the black shirt that snugly encapsulated his caretaker, brushing his fingertips against its edge in indication. He gave no spoken instruction; Rogers and Captain Wilson could be outside within hearing distance. If they became aware of what was happening, Loki was not sure where they would stand knowing what he had planned..

He felt Barnes’s stomach contract beneath his fingers, before a hand came to rest beside them, following Loki’s guidance to pull the fabric up over his head and render himself bare to Loki’s searching hands.

Barnes took in a breath at the contact, so sharp Loki saw the divide between his ribs and the definition in his hardy musculature. He was certain at that moment that if he applied the proper techniques, he could easily see the man undone.

But that had not been his bargain, even if it was an eventual intent. The proximity of Barnes to Rogers was his ultimate goal, or at the very least an easing of that rigid divide between them. It was there that he would have to employ all of his wits. Barnes had been careful to avoid contact around Loki, but he had downright and unrestrainedly rejected the attempts from Rogers. And from what Loki had seen, it was very likely he would continue to do so, as long as his predicament remained to cause him such stress.

Luckily enough, said predicament could very well turn out to be the answer.

The variables had been presented. Loki would parse through them, acquire more, and adapt to any changes to the situation as was warranted. His universe had been narrowed to the occupants of this house and the distant promise of Thor’s return. If he properly managed it, everything would not end in complete catastrophe.

Some distant part of his mind keened with laughter, reminding him of the outcome of his previous attempt at such a working of guile.

He chose to ignore it.

As an additional motivator, keeping two Avengers on his side would be a much easier task were they content and not so stringently intent on being distracted by attempting to disregard the roiling tension between them.

Reluctantly, he let one of his hands move away from Barnes’s burning skin, seeking out the shining metal hanging at his side. It was readily offered at the lightest touch.

Barnes’s voice came out in a low croak. “You said you were drained.” One last hesitance he apparently could not help but voice.

Loki felt through his own veins, trying to estimate just how much of his power, exactly, had reformed. What was there now was more substantial than the sputters he had managed before the first examination. He almost could not believe it.

“I was,” he murmured, turning Barnes’s hand over to feel over the specific places he had seen the lights of Infinity form. “In the interim of my waking and you and your friends’ restful care, it has replenished. Like a growing muscle.” He quirked an eyebrow. “I would appreciate it if you did not tell Rogers. He does not need any more reasons to be smug about my recovery.”

Barnes kept his eyes on Loki’s hand as it cradled his false limb, the rhythm of his breaths disrupted by a soft snort. “Tell me about it.”

Loki sought out the resonance of the marks, considering. He might have physically felt better but his magic was still far too limited for the magnitude of the attempt he had promised. Barnes did not need to know that - it would only cause him undue concern for Loki’s weakness.

Loki was determined to not run himself ragged. He would end it before he reached his limit. The situation had to be manipulated down a path, but he now accepted that there was no great urgency to it.

It was entirely possible he might regret that line of thinking later. For now, he was content to take his time, watching Barnes press his lips together as if he felt the manipulations in his metal limb as keenly as if it was flesh and bone.

Loki had felt no gentle touch in years. Barnes was not so uncontained that he wept at the first sign of comfort, but when Loki reached out to place his hand against his side just for the sake of it, the change to his gaze was mesmerizing. He cast his eyes down to Loki’s touch and then back up, the smallest crease forming on his brow. As if even now, even after Loki had asked to be allowed such an action, the fact it was happening remained a source of great confusion.

And then, when Loki allowed his hand to drift upwards, sliding over curving muscle, seeking to elicit more of those stifled reactions, the hard lines around Barnes’s eyes fell away. In their wake was a quiet awe.

Oh, Loki thought, a new stirring forming within him. He could certainly get used to being given such a look.

How long have you ached for this, Loki wondered, sliding his hand over the join between two shining plates. He did not know towards which of them the words were most directed. It is only simple contact. He did not speak them, knowing well that any sort of prying into Barnes’s past would be the quickest way for him to withdraw.

The seconds passing turned into minutes, broken only by the gentle shifting of water as Loki moved within it, not even bothering to attempt to interfere with the energies lurking beneath the skin he stroked. Barnes had to have noticed that fact by now - Loki had proclaimed his magic stronger, and yet the last time they had done this it had not involved nearly as much contact.

But Barnes gave no complaint.

And Loki found he was thoroughly enjoying himself. It was a pity that he had decided against following this scenario to its most fitting resolution. Whatever injuries he might have accidentally acquired in the process would have been well worth it.

He and Barnes were alone together, both hungering. Barnes had not even seemed all that put off by the state of Loki’s half-starved skin.

Barnes, who spent most of his time coaxing forth life in his garden. Who had once been a loyal friend to Rogers, presumed dead, and somehow now was a loyal friend again. Who, when he was not following the urges of his own paranoid mind, enjoyed books of magic and adventure. Who seemed to carry with him a perpetual exhaustion and the air of the downtrodden, yet often kept himself ready at any instant to attack or defend against any danger.

Who, though he seemed to hold no great attachment to his own home, dutifully tended to it each time it was damaged. And had similarly tended to Loki in spite of his own anger and distrust.

Who sat back and watched Loki through unblinking blue eyes, his lips slightly parted. Whose breathing began to change ever more as the minutes passed, broken of its even cadence by Loki’s daring hands pressing into skin and muscle.

Yes, Loki thought wryly, if he had known what encouraging his cleansing would have led to, he would have had second thoughts, and at least postponed it until he was in a better state to resist.

Not that there would have been any such guarantee that his emotional strength would have returned to him in enough of a timely manner, if at all. Or if he would have cared to delay for very long, knowing that surrendering to such gratification would feed yet more parts of him that had starved and wasted in his time spent adrift.

“You don’t have to do this,” Barnes said quietly. There was a hoarseness to his voice that had not been present before.

Loki felt his lips stretch into a small grin. “More choice, Barnes?” He spoke just as quietly, pulling the metal arm further towards himself, giddy when he met no resistance. “This was my idea, if you recall.”

Barnes’s voice went fainter. “Yeah. I recall.”

Loki grasped the limb close to his body, deciding that now was as good a time as ever to attempt to make good on his promise. Barnes swallowed roughly, audibly, remaining pliable to the manipulations placed upon him.

Loki first sought out the thread left by the Space Stone. Being the one he was most familiar with, it seemed the most appropriate place to start.

He called to the energy, and felt the immediate strain on his magic, a discomfort threatening pain and weariness if he forced more from it. When he tried to stretch further to pull the locked energy free, it proved difficult. More difficult than he had the strength to overcome.

Barnes had not handled the Space Stone in a singular manner. He had come into contact with its power in combination with every other stone, which meant its energies were intertwined with them. The power lay not only dormant but caught in a web, and even what little use it might have availed Loki lay beyond his reach. Any of the other stones would be even more resistant to his attempts. To draw on the six of them at once would be a complete impossibility.

All of which he had fully expected.

He glanced up; the look of needful wonder Barnes had been presenting was beginning to fade, overshadowed by growing resignation. It was as if the hollowness that followed him was seeping back in, making his very eyes seem to droop, accentuating the dark marks that ran beneath them as well as every sign of age and exhaustion painted upon his face.

Loki found he rather disliked the return of that expression.

There was another step in this, the most logical follow through: to call Rogers in and see if the activation of the energies could be replicated through their mutual contact, and make it easier for Loki to grasp what was within reach.

It would be too much of a risk this soon, and not because of Loki himself. It was Barnes’s own emotions that were the greatest obstacle. Loki had achieved much this morning, bringing forth a sign of Barnes he had never seen. But he did not know if he could yet guarantee that the longing the man felt was enough to calm his flighty nature around Rogers. Or if Rogers would interact in the manner needed to bridge them together.

Loki did not intend to allow Barnes to leave fully bereft, however. Especially not when his own mood remained so pleasant.

He let his fingers splay against metal, slowly running the length up to the gathered scar tissue. There he found a remaining tension, knots and stiffness. He did not have the ability to use the firmness or spells required for a true lessening of hurts but he made the effort, prying loose the bundles of muscle where he could not pry loose the energy of the stones.

Barnes swallowed audibly, a flush rising in his face as his eyelids fluttered, some of that kindling despair chased free once more. His body was unmoving but Loki thought that if he allowed himself to break through whatever it was that demanded his stillness he would have leaned into the touch.

Loki was still holding the artificial limb clutched close to his own torso, just over the surface of the water. When he crooked his fingers into the stiffened muscle at the join of Barnes’s shoulder and neck, he felt metal fingers twitch and stretch, brushing against his side, the smooth surface warmed by the leeching heat of the bath and the streaming sunlight. At the contact Barnes twitched an eye, his fingers quickly curling away in hasty retreat, leaving cooling condensation in their wake.

“Sorry,” Barnes said, lips tight. Loki was sure that if he had not still been holding him he would have fled to the other side of the room.

“Barnes,” Loki said meaningfully, wanting to squelch that panic well before it could take better root. “I consented to this hours ago. And since prior to this moment you have shown extreme skill in upholding your impression of a living monolith, I do have some faith that you can place your grip upon me without accidentally breaking bone.” He raised a wry eyebrow. “Again.”

Barnes did not look pleased by either the reminder or the gentle teasing. The pinch to his brow deepened, and he kept his hand awkwardly angled as far from Loki as he could manage it.

Loki was used to his jokes falling flat, but the response was just another reminder that he needed to tread carefully if he wished Barnes to come back to the place he had found as Loki had touched him. He found another knot of muscle and pushed his fingers into it, gratified when Barnes was distracted once again, the shadow fleeing his brow.

Loki pitched his voice lower. “And I would like it.”

For a long moment, Barnes did nothing but breathe beneath Loki’s continued ministrations, staring into Loki’s eyes like he was searching him for a lie. Eventually, hesitantly, the fingers of the metal hand crooked and uncurled, seeking skin once more, a smooth palm pressing flush to Loki’s side.

Loki noticed two things in quick succession: that his body had not yet found any shortage in its desire and hearty appreciation for even so basic an affectionate touch, and that there was an obvious thread of Infinity that he had taken note of during the first set of examinations that he had overlooked in his second perusal.

He went still, his gaze going down towards the metal hand.

Barnes, predictably, noticed the change and began to make moves to withdraw, leaving Loki again touched by nothing but open air. Loki kept his grip around the attached wrist, tight enough that Barnes was unable to fight him on retracting it fully.

“Wait,” Loki said, frowning in impatience at being denied further exploration. “Barnes. Touch me again.”

Barnes did not look eager, but he did not outright refuse Loki’s command. As metal pressed back against Loki’s hip, he let his eyes fall shut so he could better concentrate on the sensation.

The mark of the Power Stone lay just as dormant as all the others.

But unlike the others, Loki found that there was a portion of its threading path that coursed through Barnes entirely separate from the web that interlocked them.

He opened his eyes, staring at Barnes in realization. “The Power Stone did not overtake the others. You took control of the Power Stone and used it on its own.”

All calmness that had graced Barnes’s face fled. Loki was incredibly sorry to see it go, but if he was to discount whatever information he gained that distressed Barnes then they would never get anywhere.

“That’s why it’s taken prominence,” Loki said. “That might be the best point to try and reach it once I have enough of my power back.” If Barnes had simply told him, he might have reached this conclusion sooner. He felt the hand at his side attempt to move away again, and gripped down harder to keep it in place. “There’s no point in withdrawing. Right now it is harmless.”

“It’s not harmless,” Barnes said insistently, jaw tightening. “Because I’m not harmless.”

Loki let his voice remain light despite his curiosity of the surrounding situation, tilting his head in indication. “My detangled hair says otherwise.”

Barnes refused to see the sense in those words, remaining rigid. “Let go of my arm.”

Loki did not. Instead he demonstratively tightened his hold, and met Barnes’s eyes in pointed challenge. “And what will you do if I obey - run from yourself? I daresay you’ll find it difficult.”

The anger rising to Barnes’s gaze was of no surprise. Loki felt a thrill as the plates of metal began to shift, dark silver sliding over gold. A very small part of him wondered if this would be his critical moment of miscalculation.

But Barnes did not otherwise move.

Rogers could not hold Barnes in his grasp. Yet here was Loki, for whom the mildest of struggles would have left him easily cast aside - and greatly injured, besides - and Barnes could not bring himself to break free.

All at once, the rage on Barnes’s face fled, leaving the hollowness to rush back in its place. He dropped his eyes with a sharp breath, his stubbled jaw gone slack. All spark with which to fight, gone.

Loki loosened his grasp, running his thumb over the inside of the metal wrist, the soft motion an apology for his previous aggression.

He knew what he needed to do.

“Touch me again,” Loki requested, injecting resolute firmness into his voice. “Please.”

Barnes exhaled again, the movement laborious. Along with his surrender came the return of his previous obedience. He cautiously extended his hand, slowly clasping the metal fingers back to Loki’s flesh while his throat worked and the echoes of despair strengthened in his eyes.

Loki leaned forward, emboldened by the grip upon his hip. Water sloshed around his waist at the movement, sending a fresh burst of lavender billowing up from its disturbed surface.

He reached for Barnes’s shoulder, and when he pulled him forward Barnes followed the direction, extending his upper body over the side of the bath, dread painting the lines of his frame. His skin still carried notes of the mint he used to cleanse himself.

Loki smiled grimly. “I must warn you in advance that this is an area in which I am decidedly lacking in experience.”

Before there could be any response to that statement beyond an increase of wary confusion, Loki wrapped his arms around Barnes’s broad chest and back. He clung tightly, using the steadiness of Barnes’s body to keep himself from sliding awkwardly against the smooth flooring beneath his knees.

No magic. No words of manipulative seduction.

A simple hug.

There was no small measure of awkwardness to it. Loki had not lied about his lack of experience - his previous engagement in such an exchange had been mostly due to Thor’s exuberant efforts.

But with Barnes at his front, and the warmth of the sun at his back, he felt all remains of coolness on his skin chased away.

Whatever the placement of energies within Barnes meant, they could wait.

“Thank you,” Loki murmured, and though he’d been meaning the gesture as a gift of his gratitude and a pointed message to Barnes, he found the telltale sting of tears returning to his eyes. “For helping me.”

A swallow sounded close to Loki’s ear. Barnes shifted his arms, his hands traveling upwards. They pressed into Loki’s back in a practiced motion, gentle but firm.

Barnes sighed, the movement rocking through Loki’s body, the lingering tension in his frame finally falling completely away. His voice when it came was a low rumble that Loki felt more than heard.

“You’re welcome.”

Chapter Text

“Steve. You need to go.”

“What if I didn’t?”

“Changed your mind already? And after only one dance. I’m not sure if I should be self-congratulatory or deeply worried.”

“I can stay another day.”

“And then what? Another, and another? You’d be trapped in a time bound by strict rules of non-interference and complete anonymity. How long would you be willing to abide by such rules? Because I’ll tell you now, I have loved you with all of my heart, but I don’t think even I would have the fortitude to simply sit back if I had the leverage present in your situation.”

“Well, maybe I want something more than that leverage.”

“I believe you. The way you felt, pressed against me…you’ve waited so long for this. Tell me it would not kill you to stand back and watch others fight the battles that you already know the endings to.”

Silence.

“You’re smart enough not to lie to me, at least.”

“Two weeks isn’t going to make a difference. I left the world in good hands. Just like I left this one in good hands.”

“Two weeks? A moment ago you said a day.”

“It won’t be that long on the other side.”

A sigh. “All right. I won’t pretend that I’m not willing to enjoy this gift just as much as you are.”

In the end, Peggy was right. He couldn’t stay.

The bathtub was draining.

Steve could hear water rushing, gurgling as it made its way out. The rest of the pipes in the wall stayed silent, signaling that the tub wasn’t going to be refilled.

Loki and Bucky were finally finishing up.

They’d been talking for a while; their voices were too muffled for him to make out any of the words. Loki spoke softly, and Bucky’s responses were even fainter. Neither of them seemed angry. There’d been a moment of tension at one point, maybe an hour before, but it hadn’t escalated or even lasted beyond a few seconds.

Whatever was going on, it sounded like the two of them were really getting along.

Steve had drawn, and drawn, and kept drawing as the time had ticked on. In the time Loki and Bucky had been in the bathroom he’d gone through multiple pages in his sketchbook, forcing himself to keep busy even as his mind perpetually wandered. They might have been closer to coming out, but even then he kept working, eyes on the page as he filled in the lines of a closed treasure chest with rapid strokes of his pencil.

As soon as the bathroom doorknob clicked, he stopped everything he was doing to look up.

The door swung open, releasing a rush of floral fragrance. Then Bucky stepped out. He was still in the clothes he’d slept in, nearly head to toe in black fabric. His hair was still tied back, though it looked like the humidity in the bathroom had loosened some extra stray strands. There was some kind of flush to his face, too - maybe from all the hot water, maybe from the sunlight that had to have been coming in at full strength through the window above the tub. Or maybe it was the effort it must have taken to spend that long doing such sensitive work with Loki.

It almost made him look…different. When Bucky met Steve’s gaze directly, that impression only deepened.

Whatever it was, he looked good. A heaviness around his eyes had been lessened, the lack of the shadows cast by his usual frown accentuating the blue in his irises. It was a little like what Steve sometimes saw when he managed to catch him working in his garden. Bucky gave Steve a small smile, which faded completely as Loki stepped forward, drawing his focus away.

Not that it looked like Loki really needed the help; he’d seemed stronger before the bath, but now there was an energy to him. He moved with confidence, somehow giving off the image of deliberate swaggering steps, almost taking the lead in traversing across the house even as he leaned into the support Bucky offered. He was dressed in new clothes - an olive green long-sleeved shirt and black pants, and his hair was hanging in loose curls over his shoulders. It was also, Steve noted, nearly completely dry.

Which meant a lot of their time in the bathroom had been spent doing something else. He wondered if Loki’s plan to talk things out with Bucky had led anywhere. It would explain Bucky’s appearance.

He very firmly only wondered about that and that alone. Whatever had happened, it had been good for both of them.

They’d reached the cushions. Bucky kept his prosthetic out, giving Loki something to balance on as he lowered himself down with a grace that spoke of returning muscle control. Once Loki was down, he sat back with a satisfied sigh, steadying himself upright with his legs curled close to his body.

“Thank you,” he said, a polite ease in his voice. He squeezed at Bucky’s wrist, releasing him with a quick but gentle sliding movement down towards his palm that sharply drew Steve’s gaze and made Bucky uncurl his hand.

That was new.

Bucky nodded distractedly, eyes on Loki’s hand, before he seemed to belatedly realize that Steve was still there and watching them. Steve wasn’t sure if he was imagining the heaviness that returned to Bucky’s gaze when he looked at him.

“Looks like everything worked out,” Steve said, a little surprised that he managed to get the words out without too much of a sign of the dozens of questions he had.

Loki laughed, soft and bright. “Yes.” His grin held, lips stretched in a show of honest delight. “It was very informative.”

“He can’t do anything,” Bucky said bluntly.

“We have a way forward,” Loki said, plowing insistently over Bucky’s disagreement. “Once I have rested a while longer.”

Bucky gave Loki a long-suffering narrow-eyed look, his face pinching like he was actively pained. “God,” he said, eyes going to Steve in resignation. “I was right. Now there’s two of you.”

The words weren’t as furious or stonewalling as they once would have been, instead replaced with a kind of tired acceptance. Bucky didn’t look happy, exactly, but Steve was becoming more and more certain that whatever Loki could do for them would be the best way to go.

He set his sketchbook aside, leaning forward so he was more at eye level with Loki. “What kind of way forward?”

Bucky reacted first, his chin dipping down before he angled his face away. Steve felt his forehead crease at the avoidance response. It looked like he hadn’t been imagining that heaviness.

On the ground beside Bucky, Loki noticed it, too. He glanced between Bucky and Steve, and Steve could almost see the wheels turning in his head. He spoke in a reserved tone. “If…when my magic replenishes itself, it’s very possible I could extract the remnants of the energy within Barnes and put them to use within my own body.”

“Really?” Steve looked from Loki to Bucky’s continuing less than enthused reaction. “I’m guessing there’s some kind of a problem that’s going to make that less easy than it sounds.”

“As it stands, the energies are far too interlocked,” Loki said, his expression still guarded. “Even though they are remnants, they are as much a part of Barnes now as his own limbs.” He looked pointedly at Bucky’s prosthetic, reaching his hand up to brush his fingertips over the metal wrist. “Well, three of his limbs.”

“We don’t even know if it’d work,” Bucky said, criticizing without much heat. His eyes were drawn back by Loki’s contact, and Steve felt a flare of something sharp in his chest. “You screwed yourself up by just looking before.”

Steve glanced down at his own forearm, where his own shirtsleeves were pulled up to the elbow. He felt an idea begin to take root.

Loki dropped his hand, shaking his head. “Barnes, this is not something I’ve said often in my life, so I would be grateful if you take heed. This has little to do with me, and everything to do with this war you seem insistent on weathering alone. Do you want them gone or not?”

Bucky’s shoulders rose and fell heavily with his breath, his throat working on a swallow. “Yeah,” he said.

“Loki,” Steve said. “If you were able to extract the power, you’d be able to use it to help yourself?”

Bucky raised his eyes, looking at Steve with an unreadable expression.

“Theoretically,” Loki said. “My magic is adaptable. It can pair with many sources of power if I exercise the proper control to absorb them - and they’re not being used in a deliberate attack against me.” He gestured at his own body. “I’m limited, of course, by my current lack of strength. And if I press too hard too soon, then it will be as attempting to walk on broken legs. Painful, tiring, and eventually resulting in further damage and complete collapse.” Loki slid back onto the cushions until he was in a lounging position, giving an idle wave of his hand. “But unless you have reconsidered your plans and intend to starve and beat me from here on out, the remainder of my recovery will only continue to move swiftly.”

Loki said it like it was a joke. Bucky didn’t find it funny. Steve wasn’t really on board with the humor, either.

He twisted his forearm, presenting it. “What if you took mine first?”

Loki blinked repeatedly at the ceiling, then pushed himself up onto his elbows. “What?”

Bucky hadn’t let up the stare he’d been directing at Steve yet, but Steve thought he could see a change in his gaze - concern, questions. Maybe reproach.

“The energy you said I didn’t have to worry about,” Steve said. “From the Space Stone. It’s the only energy you sensed that was actually in me, right?”

Loki looked thoughtful. “Yes, it was.”

Bucky frowned at Loki. “You told us you showed up because you could tell he was the most recent person to handle the stones.”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “But that’s different, because I didn’t use them, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” Loki agreed, his eyes now locked to Steve’s arm.

“So whenever you’re ready,” Steve said, leaning back. “If it helps you, it’ll help Bucky.”

Bucky looked even more hesitant, his hands curling at his sides. But he didn’t blurt out any arguments.

Loki’s lips stretched. “I would estimate, if things proceed similarly, that time will come in the next few days.” He looked downright giddy. “Well, Barnes, it seems you need worry less about me overexerting myself.”

Bucky, who’d since they’d come out of the bathroom been acting like Loki wasn’t so much of a problem, suddenly narrowed his eyes at him with a severity that had Steve instinctively going still, not sure what he should be preparing for.

Instead of his past wariness, or any of the cringing that had followed so much as a too fast movement from Bucky or Steve, Loki just tilted his head back casually. “That is a good thing, is it not?”

Bucky kept staring, the awkward silence stretching between them, before he finally sighed and broke eye contact. He didn’t answer Loki’s question, his gaze flicking around the room as he reached into the pocket of his sweatpants. “Where’s Sam?”

“He turned in for a few hours,” Steve said, feeling very much like there was another conversation happening that he wasn’t a part of. “He said he wanted you to get a pound of red potatoes from the garden.”

The wrinkles that had formed on Bucky’s forehead deepened. He distractedly handed his phone to Loki. “Here,” he said, eyes darting to Steve again before he quickly headed to his bedroom without another word. Probably to change.

Steve frowned as he watched him go, feeling a little unbalanced by those responses.

“You appear concerned, Rogers,” Loki said, already settled back down, idly holding the phone over his face and tapping at it.

He shook his head. “Bucky gave you his phone.”

“Yes,” Loki said, waving the screen in Steve’s direction. There was a virtual clothing catalog displayed on it. “Changing with magic will be a needless expenditure I should avoid for the time being. Barnes thought to give me the chance to peruse items for a new wardrobe, since I am to be remaining here during my continued rehabilitation until Thor arrives.”

It was the first time Steve had heard Loki word it that way, without any of the usual hopelessness or obvious suspicion that they were going to lock him up without warning. He guessed it was better late than never.

Steve picked his sketchbook back up, putting it on his lap. He didn’t open it right away, instead watching as Loki continued to manipulate the touchscreen of the phone with his brow furrowed. Bucky must have already explained how to use it, or else Loki had prior knowledge. Or he was just that good at figuring things out.

“Your hair came out nice,” he offered, because he hadn’t said anything about it before and figured it would be polite.

Loki looked startled, his hand coming up to the edge of a curl. “Thank you,” he said. Then, with a hint of his smile returning, “Barnes has a gentler touch than he realizes.”

Steve meant to agree with Loki, he really did, but the image those words sprung up made it feel like every muscle in his body suddenly forgot how to function.

Loki continued swiping his finger over the phone, oblivious to the response.

Steve swallowed, opening his sketchbook, trying and failing to start the movement that would end in the pencil back on paper.

One thing was for sure; it didn’t feel like toning it down was going to end up being a very viable option for him.

And especially not when Bucky returned from his bedroom, dressed in a grey shirt and jeans and jacket, and instead of bolting straight for the garden, came to a stop beside the couch.

Steve looked up, surprised at the proximity. He still couldn’t quite read Bucky’s expression.

“Can I talk to you outside?” Bucky asked.

Steve glanced instinctively towards Loki, who waved them off without even looking their way.

“Yeah,” Steve said, shutting his sketchbook and standing up.

Bucky didn’t head for his garden. Instead, he took Steve past it, until they were a few hundred yards from the house, where the trees grew denser and the plant life grew wild, weeds and dead leaves crunching underfoot.

Only then did Bucky stop walking, on ground dappled with the shadows of branches and leaves. He squared his stance and stared at Steve, completely reverted to a readied posture. Like he’d bolt if Steve so much as breathed too loudly.

Steve thought of how Bucky had let Loki touch him just minutes ago, and felt a bloom of pain start. It was clear now that without Loki around, for whatever reason, Bucky was straining to stay put.

As if he could hear Steve’s thoughts, Bucky shook his head. “I can’t do it.”

Steve felt that bloom of pain expand. He was bracing for it, ready to meet it head on. “Do what?”

“Let you keep looking at me like you’ve been looking at me since you got back. Like I deserve anything that you and Loki are doing for me.”

It hadn’t been what Steve had been expecting Bucky to say. It wasn’t that he hadn’t expected that Bucky would still be bogged down by what HYDRA had made him do, but it had been a while since he’d given voice to the negative image of his own self worth that all that suffering had led to.

“Buck, if this is about what HYDRA made you do-”

“It wasn’t HYDRA,” Bucky said sharply. “This happened after the Wakandans took the triggers from my head. I swore to myself I’d never ever hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it, and I couldn’t even keep that promise.”

“You can tell me,” Steve urged, taking a step forward, like the physical action could help whatever mental divide stood between them.

“I don’t want to,” Bucky said. He licked his lips, turning his face away. “But if you’re going to keep throwing yourself into the fire for me, you should know what you’re helping.”

Steve felt his expression set solemnly, wondering what it was that was bad enough to really make Bucky doubt that Steve would be on his side. After everything. “I’m listening.”

Bucky breathed out, deeply, his exhale hitching in his chest. He opened his mouth, then shut it, a scowl forming over his face. Steve waited, impatient but wanting to give him the time he needed, very aware of how bad things could go if he pushed.

But then Bucky went rigid, his eyes widening, and Steve belatedly realized that he wasn’t just looking away, but looking at something. “What the fuck?”

Before Steve could ask what was going on, Bucky was rushing back the way they'd came. Steve was a step behind him without a thought, his body slipping into high alert as easy as breathing, ready to help or defend against whatever had set him off.

Four seconds later, Bucky had already come to a stop, mouth parted as he took labored breaths, staring towards the garden with squinting eyes.

Steve came to a stop alongside him, and blinked in surprise.

Standing inside the fenceline, head bent and casually nibbling on salad greens, was a huge, white horse. It was beautiful, its coat over hardy muscle practically glowing with a silver reflective sheen, its mane and tail gently blowing in the breeze. The most striking feature, though, was folded across its back - a pair of large, feathered wings. The same wings Steve had seen in the midst of the Battle for Earth, plowing towards Chitauri Leviathans with wild ferocity.

Which meant that New Asgard had arrived.

"Shit," Bucky said faintly. "I'm not ready for this."

Steve started walking towards the house, knowing the lack of a visible rider could probably only mean one thing about their location. The front door had been left unlocked. "Let's hope Loki is."

Chapter Text

“Does Rogers know?”

Loki’s voice was soft and inquiring, thrumming in a gentle reverberation off the bathroom walls from where Bucky had left him sitting against the side of the tub, body loose and sated, freshly dressed in soft clothes.

His eyes, though, were holding a bit more intensity - enough that even when turned mostly away from him, Bucky could feel the weight of them latched onto his upper back, angled towards one shoulder in particular.

He pulled his shirt back on instead of answering, cloth clinging back over his skin and blocking Loki’s view, replacing the memories of deft hands sliding over him and the eager stuttering of his own heart.

He kept his own gaze away from his prosthetic as he turned back to the tub, and wished he didn’t know what Loki was getting at.

In his periphery, Loki narrowed his gaze. His once snarled and dull hair was a healthy sheen over his shoulders. “He is your dearest friend,” he pressed. “You have a history.”

Bucky stayed quiet, grabbing bottle after bottle of products, meticulously wiping them dry before setting them into his bag.

He’d gone out of his way to avoid revealing anything but the bare minimum about who he was and what he’d done. Loki was somehow managing to unravel him all the same, reading through him as fast as he’d read through his books.

Loki sighed, deep and exasperated, his head rocking in a slow shake. “I invaded your planet with the intent to rule it. I fought him personally, and still he remains a gracious host.” Loki let the words hang in the air between them. When Bucky failed to fill the silence, he just kept talking. “Whatever actions you might have taken, I think it’s fairly safe to say the level of blame would be even less.”

Bucky zipped the bag up. He didn’t bother to tell Loki that the things he was saying were all just part of the problem. Maybe they made it worse.

A hand lighted on his arm, sure in its firmness as it slid towards his wrist, tightening down. Bucky paused in his movements and waited for that familiar wary tension to steal his focus. The feeling was there all right, but it stayed dim, a response he could ride out instead of an all-consuming strain at the forefront of his awareness. Something else had effectively pushed it aside.

The touch was a request, now, and Bucky’s stillness was the answer.

Loki kept his grip in place meaningfully until Bucky finally met his eyes.

Loki’s throat worked - his skin looked clean, renewed. “At the very least, consider it. He cares a great deal for your well-being.”

Bucky had tried.

He’d hated himself for it, knowing that with his decision he was openly acknowledging that he was selfish enough to want things he thought he’d long since resigned himself to never having. He’d stood in front of Steve’s I’m listening and his solemn, sad eyes and sure stance and had felt frustration curl hot in his stomach. Because maybe Sam’s casual companionship and Loki’s insistent promises and Steve’s steady presence had been the catalyst - but in the end all the motivation, the refusal to just leave everything behind and make sure he wasn’t anyone’s problem ever again - that all boiled down to Bucky.

And then every hair on the back of his neck had stood on end and it had taken him way too long to notice the importance of it through the fist twisting in his lungs.

There was a horse with wings in his garden.

There was a horse with wings, which meant there’d been a rider.

Which meant the time of Loki being a well-kept secret had ended.

The fucking timing. If this didn’t end in a complete shitshow then Bucky still had the next one to look forward to. And if it did, then he had two.

There wasn’t any screaming coming from inside the house, though. Loki would have screamed if he was being hurt.

Bucky felt unbalanced, his brain torn between the shock of changing stressors before his body settled on a single focus. Beside him, he could feel Steve do the same, everything thrown aside to face whatever was coming in the moment.

Bucky took a steadying breath, watching as feathered wings shifted and stretched before relaxing against a brawny white frame. “Did you call anyone about Loki?”

“No,” Steve said, brow drawn together. He didn’t sound exactly worried, but neither did he look relaxed enough about the situation for Bucky to feel good about dropping his guard even an inch. “But the last time I saw a flying horse it was being ridden by an Asgardian.”

Bucky had come to the same conclusion. “So it’s someone who knows him.”

“Maybe,” Steve said, a shoulder coming up in a shrug. “We should go say hi.”

The horse was huge and all solid muscle that seemed to get even bigger the closer they got, the fall of its immaculate hair dappled by the shade of the overhanging trees. How the hell it had gotten onto Bucky’s property in the first place without him even noticing, he had no idea. It completely ignored them passing it by as it tugged and pulled off the outer leaf of a head of lettuce, tail swishing.

Steve stepped into the house first, his steps careful and his back straight. Bucky came in after, angling himself readily. He clocked the woman standing in the kitchen between the dining table and the counter about the same time he became very much aware of the fact that Loki wasn’t occupying his bedding, and was nowhere to be seen.

Damn it.

Steve met his eyes in concern, before he turned to face down their visitor. She wasn’t standing threateningly, wielding any obvious weapons or even dressed for combat. Instead she was in a light shirt and slacks, with a long braid of hair hanging over her shoulder. A puffy jacket was slung over the back of the chair closest to her.

“Hi,” she said, sounding abashed as she took in their wary expressions. “I’m Valkyrie. Uh, King of New Asgard? Sorry, about just barging in out of nowhere. I’m looking for Captain America.” Her gaze focused on Steve, and she gave an apologetic grimace. “The new one.”

Bucky hesitated with a scowl. “Sam?”

She nodded emphatically, raising her hand in a gesture towards Bucky. “Yes,” she said, face creasing in relief. “That’s him.” She looked at her surroundings, her gaze coming to stop at the flower-embroidered dishcloth hanging off the sink. “I was starting to think I’d come to the wrong house.”

She wasn’t here for Loki. So where the hell was he? Steve gave him another pointed glance and Bucky stepped away, silently indicating he’d start the search.

“You’re in the right place,” Steve said, folding his arms. “But Sam’s asleep right now, and this isn’t his house.”

“Really?” Valkyrie’s voice filled with hesitance. “I don’t think he mentioned that.”

Bucky carefully scanned for signs in the living room adjacent bathroom while instinctively keeping his attention on the conversation for any dangerous changes in tone. Returning strength aside, he sincerely doubted Loki would have gotten far.

The bathroom was empty, though. So he’d managed to go farther than the closest refuge.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” Steve asked.

“I actually came here to offer my help,” Valkyrie was saying as Bucky came back out. She glanced his way when he moved towards the garage, but didn’t keep her attention on him for long. “He had a message sent through New Asgard to call back Thor to Earth. We haven’t heard anything. I don’t think we will for a while.”

Their voices went muffled as Bucky shut the door behind him. He checked around the piled boxes and other supplies, any corner where Loki might have been able to fit his gangly body. No sign.

“If he needs the power of an Asgardian, I can volunteer.”

Bucky exhaled heavily, opening the door back up and stepping back into the living room.

“So what is it?” Valkyrie was asking, gaze expectant. “Alien attack? Magic, machines? End of the world?” Her lips stretched in casual huff of amusement as she jutted her hip out to lean against the counter. “I’ve been here less than a decade and it feels like Earth has faced more Apocalypses than Asgard did. And I watched Asgard explode in a hail of fire.”

Bucky frowned at her tone, way too bright and eager for the words that came with it. She hadn’t seen Loki - it didn’t sound like she even had any suspicions that he was there at all. But she acted like there was a livewire under her skin, some kind of drive that didn’t feel like it would come from just the idea of getting to talk to Sam.

“Contacting Thor was more of a social call,” Steve said guardedly, seeming like he was at least somewhat on the same page. He turned to Bucky to make eye contact, his expression questioning.

Bucky dropped his gaze in answer.

Valkyrie looked between them again, her eyebrows rising as some of her energy withdrew behind a stiffer composure. “A social call,” she repeated, thick with disbelief.

“Steve,” Bucky said lowly, the words giving him an idea. “Can I borrow your phone?”

Steve frowned, then his face smoothed out in realization. “Here,” he said, reaching into his pants. Bucky took it with a nod of thanks and crossed towards the other side of the house, already dialing the number to the phone he’d left with Loki.

Valkyrie sighed instead of pressing them, but Bucky could hear in that sound that she sure as fuck wasn’t buying it. “Right,” she said, pushing off the counter and straightening back up. “Well, I can see you’re…busy. I can wait outside until Sam’s up. I’d like to speak with him myself, if that’s all right.”

The phone in Bucky’s hand started trying to connect the call. Loki didn’t pick up, but the answering vibration sounded, distant in the silence of the rest of the house. It was coming from the basement.

Bucky gave one last glance towards the kitchen to make sure their visitor was still occupied before he pulled the door open.

The first bad sign was that Loki wasn’t directly at the top of the stairs. The second was that the entirety of the basement was shadowed by darkness. And Loki had forced himself down there.

Bucky immediately reached for the light switch as he let the door fall shut behind him, taking in the half-patched walls and the emptied-out floor space.

The buzzing vibrations of his phone were coming from the bathroom, almost completely overshadowing the sound of the ragged, panicked breathing happening alongside them.

Bucky descended the stairs in quick steps, rounding into the darkened basement bathroom. He flipped the light on inside and was greeted with the sight of Loki curled up tight in the corner behind the toilet, his shallow, pained breaths turning into a muffled noise of desperate relief at the brightened room. Bucky’s phone rested in the middle of the floor, the unanswered call going to voicemail.

“Shit,” Bucky breathed.

Loki finally looked up at him, stricken eyes wide and watery. He looked wrecked, bruises and abrasions covering about every visible section of his skin, his lungs expanding on gulp after gulp of air.

“Barnes,” he said, voice almost shaking apart. He started to move one arm, then stopped and bared all of his teeth in a rictus of agony with a choked-off gasp, pressing his bruised cheek into the tile.

Bucky was at his side in a second. “What the hell did you do to yourself?”

“I made it down the stairs,” Loki said, the off-handed tone at odds with the fact that he was still shivering violently, face pale. He raised a hand to settle against Bucky’s prosthetic with a soft sound, fingers curling tightly around it as he clamped his eyes shut. “She’s not gone,” he guessed.

“No,” Bucky said, careful not to move and aggravate anything. “But we didn’t exactly make her feel welcome.” He looked over Loki, wanting to get a better idea of the damage but unsure of where to start. “You know her.”

Loki’s brow crinkled, his eyes staying closed. He reluctantly - and gingerly - nodded. “What will you do now?”

He seemed pretty coherent, at least, if still coming down from the terror of trapping himself injured in the dark. “She’s talking with Steve,” Bucky said. “She says she’s here for Sam.”

Loki pried his eyes open and scowled, another tremor going through his body. “She doesn’t…know I’m here?”

“No,” Bucky said, carefully reaching for Loki’s shirt, sliding it a few inches up his abdomen and staring at the bloom of brilliant contusions creeping up from the line of his hip. “Is she your enemy?”

“It’s up for debate,” Loki gritted, his fingers squeezing down with a choked noise as Bucky carefully probed at the mass of bruises with his free hand.

There was plenty of swelling, but the bones weren’t obviously broken. Bucky grimly searched for further injuries, carefully helping Loki slide over onto his front. “What happens when she finds out you’re here?”

Loki groaned and panted at the change in position, still gripping Bucky like he was a lifeline. “I’d…not considered it too deeply.”

“You mean you panicked.”

“She was on the ship when Thanos attacked,” Loki said defensively. “She didn’t hold a very high opinion of me, and that would have been before she inevitably learned of my surrender of the Tesseract.” He paused, eyes slanting back to Bucky. He swallowed, looking wary. “You said when she finds out.”

Bucky looked grimly over the bruising along the line of Loki’s spine - he’d really gone all out on trying to mess up every inch of himself. He was still moving all of his limbs, if painfully, so Bucky guessed that was a good sign.

Loki’d healed from having his neck snapped. The bruises and possible fractures they’d be dealing with from his haphazard escape into the basement wouldn’t be too much of a problem for his body to overcome.

Though, if he’d been closer to the weakened condition he’d been in weeks earlier, Bucky was sure they wouldn’t even be talking right now.

“Sam’s message to your brother was sent through New Asgardian channels,” he said. “She’s here because he was subtle enough about it that she thinks he just needs some muscle.”

Loki’s eyes grew wide. He tightened his grip on Bucky to draw his attention back to his face. “Did Thor respond?”

Bucky shook his head.

Loki slumped, letting his hand fall from Bucky’s arm, disappointment clear in the lines of his body. His chest expanded around a painful breath, a fresh sheen of moisture coming to his eyes, filling them to the brim without spilling over.

He kept talking like he didn’t notice. “And what of your conversation with Rogers?”

Bucky felt the unhappy tension return at both Loki’s distraught reaction and the reminder of what he’d been doing before this new injection of chaos. “Kind of got distracted by the giant flying horse.”

“Flying horse?” Loki’s lips quirked, his resulting laugh shallow, pained, and quickly suppressed. “The Valkyrie has a new mount?”

Bucky didn’t miss the hint of fondness. “It’s probably eaten half my garden by now.”

Loki’s throat bobbed, his expression sobering up into determination. He tried to plant his hands on the ground to lift himself, seizing in pain and leaning on Bucky with clawed and clinging hands as soon as he offered an arm. When he was upright and braced against the wall, he tried to shake his hair out of his face and aborted the movement with a pained noise. Then he just sat there catching his breath, staring forward as the offending locks fell back over his eye.

Bucky felt his lips twist. He reached into his pants pocket, pulling out a tie, spreading it open as he carefully gathered Loki’s hair back behind his head, mindful of any tender spots he might have had on his scalp.

Loki turned his eyes towards him in surprise, breaths heavy beneath Bucky’s carding fingers. He melted into Bucky’s hands with a rough swallow, and his next blink sent a tear escaping his eye to run down his cheek.

“She stayed behind,” Loki said, voice raw. “When Thor left Earth.”

Bucky shrugged, leaving Loki’s hair in a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck and drawing back. He didn’t know a lot about the situation. “Said something about being the King.”

“What?” Loki stared at Bucky like he was expecting him to correct what he’d said. “You’re serious. Thor gave up his kingship entirely?” He blinked rapidly, turning away. A smile stretched his mouth again, all teeth, like he was finding something funny exactly because it wasn’t funny. “He must have needed to designate someone in his absence.” When he looked back at Bucky his stare was more furtive, almost guilty. “How did she seem?”

Bucky shrugged again. “Like she didn’t understand why I looked five seconds away from grabbing my gun and firing a warning shot.”

Loki snorted. “You would not have won that fight, in any case.”

Bucky spoke flatly. “Which is why I wanted to know what happens when she finds out about you.”

“She’s much less of a danger to you than I am,” Loki said, and he at least seemed convinced about that. “Unless you have particular concerns for your stores of alcohol.”

“I’m not asking for me,” Bucky said. “You’re the one that threw yourself down the goddamn stairs to get away from her.”

Off Bucky’s tone, Loki leaned his head back against the wall, eyes going to the ceiling. “I might have panicked,” he admitted. “I did not have high hopes for my chances at defending against an incoming attack. Next time I’ll pick a retreat with less stairs. And perhaps a window.” He shuddered, shoulders slumping as his gaze went distant. “Or…anything.”

Loki had only been down in the basement alone for a matter of minutes. But Bucky could imagine some of what he’d gone through, considering what he’d seen of Loki’s past reactions to being in the dark. How out of his mind he must have been in the moment to think it was worth it to retreat into the basement.

Bucky breathed out. He picked his phone up off the ground, settling it in the pocket opposite Steve’s. He settled himself on the ground next to Loki, pulling his legs up, taking own turn at staring at nothing, trying and failing to parse through some of the mess around him. “So what now?”

“Now?” Loki asked, voice faint with exhaustion.

“She already knows something’s up,” Bucky said. “We might be able to kick her out after she talks to Sam. But she seemed like she really wanted to be here.”

“You said she doesn’t know I am here.”

“She doesn’t,” Bucky said. He clasped his hands together, rubbing at a crease in the vibranium. “She sounded excited at the idea of a fight.”

“She’s not going to get much of one from me,” Loki murmured. He sighed, picking at his own hand. “There’s…still a chance she might try for one. I have tried to kill her in the past.”

Bucky figured the less he asked about that, the better. “You said Thor designated her. They must have been on good terms.”

Loki finally looked over at him again, forehead wrinkled, with that same Pavlovian reaction of almost hyper-focus he got whenever his brother was mentioned.

“Everyone liked Thor,” Loki eventually said, as if it was a god-given fact. “She was no less enamored with him.”

Bucky stared at the far wall of the bathroom, and thought about the house around him, and the property that stretched beyond it. He dipped his head, staring at his curled metal hand. “If she knows what happened, she’ll know it’s because of you that he walked away at all.” He opened up vibranium fingers, stretching and closing them, and glanced back over at Loki. “People tend to like when others do that for the people they love, even when there’s a bunch of terrible shit that came along with it.”

Loki blinked, and then blinked again, tilting his head as he all but squinted in obvious scrutiny. But if earlier he’d been reading Bucky like a book, now he was staring at him like he’d gone and changed to an indecipherable language mid-page. One that he wanted the tools to translate.

Tough. They had to deal with Loki’s problem first, now.

Loki looked down at his lap, the line of his jaw sharp, exposed. “I should speak with her alone,” he murmured, deadly serious.

Bucky flicked his eyes towards him, exasperated. “Do you ever do anything between extremes?”

“Not especially,” Loki said. He quirked his brow. “But I would not complain were there to be initial protection as we…acclimate.”

Bucky would have said that was non-negotiable, seeing as Loki’s most recent decision for physical therapy had left him with a comprehensive covering of purpling bruises. He wouldn’t have put much faith in Loki’s current ability to move himself around.

“Are we going up, or is she coming down?”

“Up,” Loki said, firmly and without hesitation. He swallowed hard, wringing one hand in the other. “Up.”

Bucky nodded, mentally preparing himself. “Okay. Then we’re going up.”

Loki reached out and clamped his hand onto Bucky’s shoulder in readiness.

It was just as awful as Bucky was expecting, cementing his suspicion that Loki had to have given himself some deeper tissue damage. But at the top of the stairs, he was still upright, if sweating with the strain, looking like he’d just survived an hours-long torture session.

Bucky gave him a minute to just hang off him and catch his breath. Then he reached for the doorknob.

“You ready?” he asked.

“No,” Loki answered, sucking in another agonized breath. He nodded at the door. “Open it.”

Bucky opened it.

Chapter Text

When Loki had found himself enduring his latest hellish encounter with the dark, he had been cognizant enough to recognize the many differences from his fall through space, and he’d clung to them viciously.

Instead of endless floating, gravity pulled him in a specific direction - towards a cool, smooth surface that pressed unyieldingly against his newly injured body. His ability to breathe had also been left to him, a fact which he took full advantage of in his near-frenzied panic, until his lungs burned and his head swam and his own bursting gasps echoed sharply back to him from walls he could not see.

And there was something else: with every subsequent desperate inhale came scents strong enough that they began breaking through the mist of his terror. The choices Barnes had given him, clinging to his skin and mingling in his hair.

They kept him present. Kept him from screaming.

And when Barnes had found him and added more to his world - bright light and gentle touch, the smell of trodden earth on his shoes and the faded mint on his skin, Loki’s relief had been nothing short of extreme.

It had felt…more manageable, than his most recent experiences, even if it had left him shaken, exhausted, and far too wary of the dark’s return.

Then, just minutes later, back above ground in a space with an abundance of natural light, fresh air, and Barnes sternly supporting his newly damaged body, he felt as if the final rigid vice about his lungs had been loosened.

Unfortunately, it was quick to firmly reinstate itself as he heard the voices that drifted from the other side of the house.

“You came a long way.” That was Rogers, sounding as reserved as Loki had ever heard him.

“New Asgard’s not fragile. They can get by without me for a while.”

And that was Valkyrie. The proof, here and now, that what Barnes and Rogers and Captain Wilson had said of New Asgard’s existence was true.

Loki had not really believed he was being lied to about Earth’s recently formed Asgardian settlement. That did not change the fact that there had been some remaining doubts, and an incapability of full acceptance, just as his mind was unable to fully accept that any time spent lingering in the dark did not have a very real potential to see him trapped again.

Valkyrie was here. Very possibly about to exact extreme violence upon his person the moment she saw him, but here nonetheless.

Loki swallowed past his aching throat, trying to quiet his shallow breaths. He became keenly aware again of every flare of pain in his body, every newly applied weakness he had given himself in his mad escape to the basement. And beneath that, the stirring of a fear, along with longing and regret - all things that the long fall had somehow not permanently wrung from him.

Faced with the immediate decision to either move forward or retreat, he found himself hesitating. A glance towards Barnes for his opinion revealed an expression of misgiving and heavy lines shading his brow, and not much of a change to either when he made eye contact.

Right. There were hardly going to be any motivational speeches from that end.

“And I have a phone, if there is an emergency. It wouldn’t take me long to get back.” Valkyrie was being polite to Rogers, and unusually patient through her guardedness. If Loki allowed Barnes and Rogers to deal with her without him, she might be convinced to leave.

He found he disliked that idea more than the risk he would take in confronting her.

His next step forward sent his teeth grinding as sharp shards of agony scraped over his bones. He somehow managed not to stumble, breathing hard as Barnes supported him, a great block of muscle-bound tension as they came to the end of the hall and rounded the corner.

Valkyrie’s side was to them, her gaze aimed forward. Loki stilled, leaning into Barnes and panting through the low thrill in his gut as he examined her profile, observing how the years had treated her. Hale and hearty, her hair grown long, braided, with a distinct glow and surety to her face he had only been given hints of in the calm before the attack on the Statesman had sent their lives reeling. She wore no sign of her named kingship, instead dressed in the simple garb of Earth with a comfort that spoke of frequency and experience of use.

Well, it was not as if she had never successfully integrated herself into a non-Asgardian planet’s culture before.

“But you didn’t call Sam ahead of time to let him know,” Rogers said. He noticed Loki and Barnes almost immediately, his gaze clinging to them in turns of relief and concern.

“I didn’t think sparing the time for a phone call was worth it,” Valkyrie said. A pause, and she shook her head, long hair swinging behind her. There was a blue ribbon intertwined in the strands. “Look, I’m sorry I just walked in. Like I said, I can wait outside until I find out whatever it is Sam needed Thor for.”

“That would be me,” Loki said, unable to help himself.

She turned towards them, her eyes catching on Barnes first and then Loki, before they froze upon him in a wordless, seconds-long stare.

“Hello,” Loki said, proud of the steadiness in his voice despite the pounding of his heart.

Her arms dropped to her sides, hands folding as if she was about to draw a knife. She cast a glance of incredulity towards Rogers, then back to Loki, eyebrows shooting up as she looked him up and down.

“You’re joking,” she said, like she was speaking the words to the universe at large rather than any single person. She narrowed her eyes on his face, the shock fading. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

Loki felt his lips stretch, the bruises on his face reacting with small jolts of tender hurt. “I can find no argument with that statement.”

She began her approach, quick and angry, and Loki felt all humor rush from him in a sieve as he shrunk back, bracing himself for the punch. His legs chose that moment to decide that was one difficulty too many, collapsing beneath him. Barnes was ready for his fall and braced him up with his flesh hand, clenching his metal fist and angling himself so he would be positioned between Loki and the oncoming threat, Loki’s warnings about his chances in a fight soundly ignored.

But Valkyrie had already come to a stop, taking in their individual responses. She met Loki’s eyes again, the confrontation not quite leaving her posture. “So this means you left Thor to die.”

An ugly swirl unfurled itself in Loki’s gut, guilt and frustration springing fresh at the pointed blame. He fought to get his legs beneath him, managing with a low grunt of exertion. “No.”

She was nearly snarling. “You left him on that exploding ship and then avoided him for years.”

“I didn’t have a choice in that,” Loki said with no small measure of protest. “I only arrived on Earth recently.”

She didn’t appear impressed. “So you hid on another planet.”

“I think you may be projecting a small bit,” Loki said. He blinked repeatedly, his voice growing faint. “I was not…on any planet.”

She took another step towards him, her posture demonstratively calm while her eyes simmered. Barnes stood his ground, not so much as a twitch running through his body in response. “Then where were you?”

“Falling,” Loki somehow answered. He swallowed through his tight throat, a single shiver racing through him. “For a very long time.”

The living room was bright with the sun, and Rogers’s painting was an expanse of color across the wall, ready to light at the fall of darkness. Loki focused on those things, and the warmth of the body at his side, to tether him to the present.

Valkyrie’s brow furrowed, some of her anger lessening. She looked him over again in a more considering manner. “You do look like shit.”

Loki laughed, a short sound without much strength. It still felt as if it had sent every new injury burning afresh. “I thought we might speak in private. Provided you’ve no plans for an immediate beating.”

“In private,” she repeated dubiously, eyes darting to the way Barnes was holding Loki, and the way his legs trembled as they struggled to so much as minimally support his body. “Can you even walk properly?”

“No,” Loki said, knowing he was seconds away from another collapse. “Not for farther than a few steps.”

“He’s been making a lot of great progress,” Rogers volunteered.

“This is progress?” Valkyrie asked, again staring at the way Barnes was all but keeping Loki upright.

Barnes shrugged, finally relaxing incrementally as the seconds continued to pass and the promise of violence on the air did not return. “Didn’t re-break his own neck,” he said dryly.

“If we might - hurry,” Loki said tensely, the strain in his legs increasing dangerously.

Valkyrie’s expression sobered. She didn’t appear pleased, precisely, but the emotion on display became less of visible abhorrence. “We’ll talk outside,” she said.

Loki felt shocked at the suggestion, unexpected as it was. Barnes stiffened up again beside him.

“Is that a problem?” Valkyrie asked.

“No,” Rogers answered at the same Barnes said “Yes.”

Valkyrie looked between them, nonplussed. “Is he not allowed outside?”

Loki, slumping completely as his screaming legs refused to hold him further, laughed again. “The subject has never really come up.”

“It probably should have before now,” Rogers said, looking sheepish.

Barnes said nothing, his jaw flexing. Loki could practically feel the disagreement radiating from him, and his support felt more like he was holding Loki in place rather than assisting him in standing. Loki tried to get his legs back under him, succeeding with middling results. He grimaced and leaned heavily against Barnes, carefully reaching out to grasp at his metal wrist.

Barnes turned his gaze towards him, unmoved. Loki quirked his brow. “If I may,” he said, rubbing his thumb over a metal groove. “It would be quite nice to see your garden in person.”

Barnes remained as stone for a moment longer beneath Loki’s touch. When he broke, he did so all at once and with a mighty sigh, at last moving his metal limb from its defensive position. He dropped his eyes and shook his head, but moved to help Loki forward, towards the door that led outside.

Valkyrie held her forearm out, stopping their advance. “I can take him off your hands,” she said brightly. At their hesitation, she shrugged. “I’ve carried him before.”

Loki narrowed his eyes at the offer. “You mean after you knocked me unconscious and before chaining me up.”

“Because you tried to kill me,” she said, still just as bright. “And I had to make things up to Thor somehow. Handing you over to him seemed like a good first step.” She looked between Rogers and Barnes. “Kind of seems like your new friends have the same idea.”

Barnes and Rogers met each others’ eyes - Barnes, still scowling, clearly not reassured by the exchange he was hearing, while Rogers had shed the last of the lingering reservations in his expression.

Loki pressed his lips together, dipping his head down. “I am - fragile, currently. Extra consideration with my handling would not go amiss.”

“Yeah,” Valkyrie said, pointedly gazing at his wobbling limbs. “Didn’t really need the warning. Are we going to talk or what?”

Loki looked at the rigid line of the stubbled jaw beside him. “It would give you the chance to return to your previous activity,” he suggested lowly.

Barnes darted his eyes towards Loki, then Rogers, brow smoothing from anger to unease. He reluctantly began to relinquish his hold.

Valkyrie grasped at Loki. She pulled him towards her body, a bit more roughly than Loki thought was strictly necessary, but the pain that rocked through him at the jarring movement was at least brief.

“Let’s go,” she said, eagerly guiding him towards the door. He could feel Rogers and Barnes watching them as they made their exit.

And then he wasn’t paying them any mind at all, as he realized that he’d stepped through the threshold of the house and into the full force of the sun’s warm rays, unimpeded by walls and glass. He felt the breeze on the air, bringing with it the scent of earth and grass and the fragrant herbs in the nearby garden, heard the overlapping songs of birds coming from every direction, the buzzing of insects, and his own gasping breaths as he collapsed, able to think of nothing else except the sensations singing beneath his skin and the severe exhaustion that wracked him.

When he came back to himself he found he was shuddering, on his hands and knees, a hand at his side steadying him. Valkyrie was staring at him as if he’d grown a second head, gripping his arm tightly enough that it throbbed. “Do you need a minute?”

Loki swallowed roughly. His cheeks were wet. “That would be appreciated,” he said.

“When’s the last time you ate?”

Loki reluctantly pried open his burning eyes. He’d been placed on the ground with his back against one of the wider parts of the fencing that made up the garden, and for the moment was ignoring the pain the roughness of the position brought in favor of every other sensory element that was gloriously enveloping him.

He’d thought his experiences inside the house had been enough - but he’d…forgotten. How alive a world could be.

Valkyrie was still there. Not a figment of his imagination, and the fresher pain in his arm was proof of that. He knew the new injury had been ignorance rather than intention, and counted himself lucky she had not been around while he’d been at his worst. Between her and Barnes he might have spent more time trying to recover from pulverized bones than not.

She stood in front of him, beside her mount, the latter of which regarded him curiously with large dark eyes. Loki had a very vague recollection of demanding she remove the horse from the garden to prevent the destruction of any more of Barnes’s crops.

“I eat quite frequently, now,” he said, dipping his head forward in exhaustion. With his hair bound, he could feel the sun’s balmy touch directly over his neck and shoulders. “But years of abstinence have been difficult to catch up on.”

“Since the attack on the Statesman,” she said, still not sounding like she quite believed him.

“Shall we assume that anything Thor explained to you is exactly what happened,” Loki suggested, not entirely eager to go over the details again.

She sighed, glancing over the expansive fields of the property. “So how did you end up here?”

He pulled a corner of his lip up, staring at the glow of light reflecting off the fading bruises on his skin. “A combination of magic and desperation.”

“And you’re not a prisoner.”

“No,” Loki laughed. “I’m as surprised at that fact as you are.” He glanced back at the house, a feeling of warmth stirring within him, nearly enough to match the embrace of the sun’s rays. “They have been kind.”

“Hmm.” Valkyrie shot her own gaze to the house. “Kind,” she repeated.

Loki frowned at her tone. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, too quickly. “So, I’ll just wait for Sam to wake up. Make sure there isn’t anything I missed. Then I can take you back.”

Loki felt a jolt chase away some of his exhaustion. “Wait - take me back?”

“To New Asgard,” she said, as if it wasn’t obvious.

Loki straightened up, ignoring the protest of his spine and hips. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but I’m considered somewhat of a wanted man on Earth.”

She scoffed. “So your idea of safe is a three man guard in the middle of nowhere instead of a literal army of Asgardians?”

“It was going very well until one of those Asgardians showed up uninvited,” Loki shot back. “Not to mention the fact that I am currently supremely unfit for any sort of travel.”

“Taking a portal across Earth would be easier than that crawl you just took,” Valkyrie said. Her horse snorted as if in agreement. “And with the added bonus of skilled healers waiting on the other side.”

“Yes, and I have met those healers,” Loki said. “What is wrong with me is beyond any Asgardian’s ability to help.”

She all but rolled her eyes. “You think just sitting on your ass is the best strategy? The message to Thor was sent out of New Asgard. If you want to see him again, you know that’s where he’s going to show up first.”

She was right, though Loki wouldn’t say it out loud. He felt something building at her offer - an eagerness, bordering on excitement, with a growing impatience swelling behind it and pushing it to the forefront.

There were plenty of justified reasons for his wariness at the idea of a return to Asgard’s people without Thor. Perhaps enough of those reasons would remain even should he return alongside Thor.

But that was not the foremost reason for his reluctance to accept.

“I owe them a debt,” he murmured, tracing the dips between one hand’s knuckles. “I would see it repaid before my departure.”

She stared at him searchingly. “And you think you can repay it like this,” she said, with another judging look at his downed form.

“As I said,” Loki gritted out, “it was going well.”

She shrugged, shaking her head. “Whatever. To be honest, I couldn’t give two shits where you actually decide to end up.”

Loki snorted, relief flooding him at her withdrawal from the subject. “You should have opened with that,” he said. “Now I feel far more welcomed. What’s next, accusing me of some underhanded scheme?”

“There’s always an underhanded scheme with you,” Valkyrie said. She gestured to his body. “But seeing as the last one left you like this, and Thor alive, you’ll get a pass this time.”

He swallowed, a bloom of bitterness coloring his tone. “Are you enjoying my diminished condition?”

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” Valkyrie said. “What did you think was going to happen, back on the Statesman?”

Loki stared at his hands, joined in his lap, and felt a swirl of wind carry the few loose strands of his hair fluttering against his jaw. Perhaps before he would have guarded his answer, denied any weakness. There was little point now.

“My death,” he answered.

He found the admission, and the involuntary recollection of the aftermath of his decision did not overtake him as easily as it had before. He could remember the sounds he’d made as the Infinity Gauntlet crushed his throat and still remain where he was, listening to leaves gently brush one another as branches swayed in the tree overhead, while a small, round bird releasing a high, thin call as it landed on the fence beside him, curious and unafraid, before flitting into the garden.

He saw Valkyrie’s boots step into his lowered line of vision. “Well, you’re back, now,” she said. “Whether the rest of us like it or not.”

“A high endorsement,” Loki said, rolling out his shoulders against their less than comfortable brace, swallowing down against his churning stomach as he looked back up. “Is it any wonder you were in such a hurry to bundle me off.”

“You weren’t there,” she said softly, solemnly. Her form was dappled with the shadows of the branches of the tree above. “You didn’t see what your death did to Thor.”

He smiled tightly, covering the pulse of emotion that bloomed in his chest. “You’d be surprised by exactly how much experience I have with his responses to my ending.”

“None like this,” Valkyrie said, with a surety that gave Loki pause. “But it’s not my place to tell you about it. You’ll have to hear it from him.”

He wanted to know almost as much as he didn’t want to know. He kept his voice light to mask his longing. “Then by all means, send him my way as soon as he arrives.”

“Oh, I will.” Valkyrie said. She looked towards the house again. “And you’ll…be here. Healing.” She smacked her lips. “Repaying your debt.”

Loki squinted up at her, disliking her tone. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Not now,” she said, still with the same inflection.

“What,” Loki demanded.

She shrugged again. “Just wondering where the arm stroking fits into all of that.”

“Ah,” Loki said. He’d forgotten she’d been there when he’d soothed Barnes. How out of place it would have looked. “Let’s just say that I am not the only one here in need of healing.”

She stared at him for a long moment, before something seemed to relax in her at last. “That I can believe,” she said. “Damn, there really isn’t a battle waiting, is there?”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Loki said. “Unless you’re interested in gathering some red potatoes from the garden, there are precious few tasks in need of completion.”

Her brow creased. “Red potatoes?”

“Barnes was tasked with gathering them earlier for dinner,” Loki explained. “There was somewhat of an interruption.”

She put her hands on her hips and shifted back onto her heels. “Well, you’re not being left to starve on my account,” she said, then moved towards the garden.

“I was joking,” Loki said quickly, twisting his head as she vaulted the fence and landed easily on the path within.

“I noticed,” she responded, already looking around at the thick foliage. “We have red potatoes in New Asgard,” she said, glancing back at him. “We weren’t exactly drowning in riches when we first settled here. Everyone had to chip in just so we had enough to eat.” She grinned as she spotted her target. “Ah! Here we go.”

She reached down, and Loki felt a twinge of panic. Unfortunately, his attempt to rise was a laughable failure, and he ended it painfully sprawled in the grass beside the fence. “Valkyrie, stop.”

She paused at the urgency in his voice, her hand still around the leaves protruding from the ground. She let them go without question, slowly rising back up, taking in his new position and the grimace on his face.

“Okay,” she said, nodding, “so, trying to pick potatoes causes a complete freakout. Got it.”

Loki remained nervous until she exited the garden, leaving the other plants unmolested. When she came over to help him up he waved her off - the grass was an easier cushion than the fencing, and with his body’s renewed screaming he didn’t relish the idea of moving yet again.

“This isn’t your kingdom,” he said, carefully breathing through his pain. “You can’t just force your way in wherever you please.”

Her look of bafflement didn’t lessen. “I was trying to help.”

“After we just established for a second time that there’s no need for it.” He swallowed, and spoke deliberately. “Do not disturb the garden.”

“All right,” she said defensively. “I’ll stay out.” Her horse nickered, nudging at her shoulder. “We’ll stay out,” she amended.

Loki exhaled heavily at the reassurance, shutting his eyes and letting his head fall back against the ground, what little energy he’d regained gone in his outburst. He could feel her watching him, thankful that she didn’t say anything more on the subject, especially because he didn’t think staying conscious was going to be a possibility for much longer.

Barnes wouldn’t complain about the garden, not outright. Loki knew that. Just as he hadn’t truly complained about Loki destroying half of his house, or Valkyrie’s horse consuming his plants. But the thought of being a party to the further disruption of the work Barnes had put into his plot, however minor the intrusion… well, clearly it did not sit well with Loki.

He heard Valkyrie’s clothing shift. “So, just checking, now we’re just…waiting out here.”

Loki thought of Barnes and Rogers, alone together in the house - hopefully continuing where they had left off with their earlier conversation, easing that divide between them. Then he thought of Captain Wilson slumbering, nursing his own injuries. Just as Loki himself was to be slumbering at any moment.

“Yes,” he answered. “And I would ask a favor.” He inhaled deeply, wincing as his ribs twinged. “If we are not recalled inside before sunset…wake me.”

“What happens at sunset?” Valkyrie warily asked.

“I…” Loki swallowed. “I do not…have much enjoyment of the dark.”

“Better or worse than me picking red potatoes out of your friend’s sacred garden?”

“Worse,” Loki answered, curling his fingers. “Much worse.”

“That’s bad,” Valkyrie said.

Loki huffed a breath too faint to be a chuckle. He could feel the fog in his brain pulling him under, and now had no reason to fight it. The pains in his body began to grow distant, even as he yet felt the sun pouring its light upon him. For now, all was well.

“Thank you,” he thought to say, the world descending into a comforting haze around him.

“For what?” Valkyrie asked. She sounded far away. “Not kicking the shit out of you?”

“For bringing me outside,” Loki clarified. “Into the sun.”

“Don’t mention it,” Valkyrie said. “And don’t start doing the arm thing to repay me. I’m already seeing someone.”

Loki would have laughed, or perhaps asked who, but in the next moment he was blissfully drawn into sleep.

Chapter Text

As soon as Valkyrie and Loki had stepped outside Bucky moved across the house and stationed himself at the nearest window, tense as a coiled spring, eyes darting back and forth across the yard.

Steve gave him an extra minute before he knew he wasn’t going to come away on his own. “I think Valkyrie has it handled.”

“Anyone could see him.” Bucky said, his jacket stretched tight over stiff shoulders.

Steve took a few steps over, looking out beside him. Valkyrie was awkwardly helping Loki sit down against the fencing while Loki painfully craned his neck and pointed in agitation at the winged horse in the garden. Whatever he said after was too low and garbled for Steve to make out. The horse raised its head in response, staring at Loki and then at Valkyrie, who rolled her eyes and gestured for the horse to come over. After a moment’s pause to shake out its mane, the horse stretched out its wings and jumped over the fencing with the ease of a leaf on a breeze. It stared at Loki in curiosity before it lowered its head to sniff at the ground when it didn’t receive a welcome reception.

Steve raised his eyebrows in humor at the sight, glancing at Bucky. “He’s in good hands.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. He didn’t look at Steve, either, still scanning the yard outside, from Loki to the driveway to the road beyond, his brow pinched and his pale blue eyes too wide and intent for calm.

Steve took the hit, his cheer fading as he sighed deeply. This was more than just the stress of the possibility of being found out. In the time they’d lost with the arrival of their new visitor, for whatever reason, the door Bucky had been offering to crack open to him earlier had been slammed shut and barricaded.

He got that Bucky didn’t find him a source of comfort - not like he wished he did. The understanding didn’t make the change any easier, especially when they’d been so close to bridging that gap.

“You’re not going to talk to me,” he said, unable to help the building frustration from coloring his voice as he folded his arms.

Bucky dipped his chin a little, the locks of hair that were too short to be tied back brushing against his cheeks. He still wasn’t looking at him, but Steve could see the worried tilt to his brow deepen. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” he said, voice low and rough. “He’s not gonna stay for long now.”

Steve frowned, looking back out to the yard where Loki looked like he had fallen into a doze against the fence while Valkyrie hesitantly put her fingers to his neck to check for a pulse. “We don’t know that.”

“He fell down the stairs an hour ago and he’s still mostly in one piece,” Bucky said. “He’s fit to travel. She’s not his enemy and she’s friends with his brother.” He exhaled heavily, tongue dashing against his lips. “He hasn’t wanted anything else since he crash landed.”

Steve thought of the way Loki had kept touching Bucky’s wrist, the way they’d looked at each other since coming out of the bathroom that morning. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to believe it, but it didn’t change the fact that he’d seen it.

“Buck,” Steve said softly, something sharp digging around in his chest. “I don’t think that’s true.”

Bucky finally looked at Steve, but only for a second. It was still enough for Steve to see a different kind of fear lighting up his face. Then his eyes dropped, and he moved over to the window on the south facing wall, the leather of his jacket creaking with his quick movement. He checked the property from that angle, his back to Steve once more.

“Shuri offered to check me again if I went back to Wakanda,” Bucky said, hands curled into fists. “She’ll figure something out.” The words were hopeful but the way Bucky said them wasn’t; Steve could see the resignation sloping the line of his shoulders down. “You don’t need to worry about it. I’ll be fine.”

The way Bucky sounded, Steve didn’t think he expected to come back from Wakanda for a long time.

“You don’t want me to go with you,” Steve said.

“You’re supposed to be retired,” Bucky pointed out wearily.

“Taking a trip to Wakanda isn’t exactly hard work,” Steve offered, but even that came out weak. “And we can always ask Loki to stay.”

“Steve,” Bucky said, an undercurrent of something strained in his voice. “You don’t gotta worry about it. This whole stupid situation has kept you around here too long. You should get back to living your life.”

Steve went quiet at that, nursing the frustration in his core. Most of it wasn’t directly aimed at Bucky, but for whatever had happened between them that made Bucky think that Steve wasn’t someone he could confide in. That he needed to block him out, even with Steve asking to be let in.

Especially with Steve asking to be let in.

He turned away, to where the containers of glowing paints that Tony had designed were resting against the wall. He took in the mural, staring at the unfinished trees at the edges and the areas where he’d wanted to add a little more detail or paint over the mistakes he’d made in the process.

It wasn’t too late to finish.

He started setting the supplies back up, pulling the tops off the cans with gentle snaps, revealing their colors to open air. Whatever Tony had done to make them, they were practically odorless. He pulled a liner across the ground towards the wall to catch any drops that would fall.

Then he grabbed a brush, and stood in front of the last untouched patch, spread white in front of him.

He couldn’t hear Bucky behind him, breathing or moving, even though they were in the same room. He’d gone instinctively still, like he was ready for a fight. From Steve, or whatever he thought was going to happen outside. Or both.

Steve started mixing together hues of colors, trying to find the right ratio for what he’d need. It was easier to do that now that he’d made so much progress with the rest of the painting. As he worked, the conversation with Sam that morning played through his mind.

“You said you’ve had some talks with Barnes. Anything involving…”

“Bucky bathing Loki?”

“No, anything involving your feelings. Yours, specifically.”

Years with the Brooklyn Support Group had given him plenty of time to verbally excavate one of the darkest times in his life after Thanos had wiped out half of all life. Having Natasha as a friend during those years had made it easy to have a personal relationship alongside that where he could open up and be opened up to right back.

Talking about himself and his problems wasn’t exactly new territory for him.

But Sam was right. He hadn’t done that in this particular situation. He’d been focused on what was happening outside of him and trying to ignore everything else. Standing with his feet in the ocean and telling himself it was just a puddle. He was still doing that.

He was good at doing that.

He never lied when something was bothering him. But sometimes it was just easier to leave the page blank.

Maybe he couldn’t get Bucky to admit what exactly had happened with his arm without pushing him away. He could control this part of the situation, though. Even if he wasn’t exactly going to enjoy it.

Steve closed his eyes, and for the first time in months, let himself really think about his time in the past beyond Peggy’s warmth.

Immediately, his frustration faded away into something else so strong it made him nauseous.

He blinked open his eyes, heart pounding, urge to paint gone. If Loki hadn’t destroyed Bucky’s basement gym, maybe he would have considered going down there to let off some steam. It wouldn’t have made him happy, but it would have been something.

“Talk to him. Maybe give him a little something more than ‘I was trying to get a life’ as an explanation for leaving. Because if he’s not that worried about Loki, and he’s not worried about you or me, there’s only one person left for him to be really worried about.”

There was a chance that doing that could just end up having a worse effect.

What he’d been going through before now didn’t really feel like it would end up all that much better. He’d been hoping Loki’s recovery and magic would be the key to helping Bucky. But even if it did, maybe that wouldn’t fix everything. If the lights beneath their skin hadn’t shown up before now, if Loki hadn’t shown up, maybe this was the place they were always going to end up - standing with their backs to each other, while Bucky waited for his chance to walk away.

Steve took a breath. Then two. Then three. Then he made his arm move, layering paint up and down the wall, starting to fill in the space with another tree. He glanced at the ones beside it, taking care to give it its own look, branches extending on all sides from a sturdy trunk.

He stayed quiet for a good while as he worked, the muscle memory of the movement, the brush in his hand settling him into focus. Bucky stayed behind him, filling the silence with more silence, only strengthening Steve’s resolve to make sure that wasn’t how it stayed.

He started a final branch, this one looking like it would stretch directly towards whoever was in front of it.

Then he forced himself to talk. “I was with Peggy for two years.”

The shifting sound behind him was soft, minor - maybe a twitch of a shoulder, or a small twist of the head. It was followed by more silence, but the soft bristles of the brush in Steve’s hand sliding over the wall kept up their own rhythm to fill it.

“I wanted to stay for the rest of my life. Felt like I wanted it more than anything.” He kept stroking, layering dull red into the frame of the tree, a self-deprecating smile curving his mouth. “She told me from the start I wouldn’t be able to do it. I didn’t listen.”

He started on the foliage next, outlining curves and indentations around the reaching branches. “We danced a lot in those first weeks. Everything she could run me through. We even went out. No internet, so no one recognized me out of uniform. That was kind of relieving.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. But Steve knew he was still there, had to still be hearing him.

He kept painting, trying to regather his thoughts. Soon the white patch on the wall was filled in with the beginnings of the shape that would complete it.

He started mixing greens together, mostly darker and cooler tones to emphasize the backlit quality of the painting and contrast the sunlight at the center. Then he found his voice again. “I think it was about a month in that I stopped sleeping so much. Not that I had a great habit of it before that. We agreed it was probably because I was still adjusting after everything that had happened.” He added a few mixtures of warmth, bright orange for the leaves that would be soaked in the sun. “Peggy had a lot of work, but she still came home every night, still made sure to save time to dance with me at least a few times a week. Pretty soon it started feeling like those were the only times I could breathe.”

He remembered how her body had felt, pressed so perfectly against him. The only thing he’d really let himself bring back with him.

He’d always remember it.

He sighed, shaking his head, adding in another dash of golden yellow. “I think even at that point I was still in denial enough to want to lean into the idea of living out my life that way. I’ve had a lot of people tell me over the years that they didn’t think I could go on without a war, but they didn’t really know me. The only problem was, I didn’t really know enough about myself to give them a different answer.”

The shadows went up first, dark masses of clumped leaves clustered together. There would be a lot more of them than there would be leaves in the light.

“Two months in was the first time I went to Siberia.”

“Steve,” Bucky finally said, soft as a whisper.

Steve’s own voice wanted to soften in kind, to fill with regret. He didn’t let it. “I didn’t tell Peggy. If she’d known, she probably would have been the first one to fly out there, with an army at her back.”

He had to give himself a minute after that, painting until there were only a few bare sections of branches left, sticking like jagged points from shaded leaves. Bucky was silent again, but now Steve could feel his attention, reaching out to him like the branches of a tree.

He grabbed a larger brush and dipped into the warmer colors, ready to add a layer of shine. “I knew exactly where the base was - the security codes, layout. They would have never seen me coming. I didn’t know if they’d had enough time to make you forget, but I knew that didn’t matter.”

He remembered how it felt - the determination, the excitement, the ability to go back and fix one of his longtime regrets. Maybe he should have gone back earlier, restarted the entire thing, but he hadn’t had Peggy’s foresight as to what he was going to do, and by the time he’d known exactly what he was doing, he was already doing it.

“I got to Russia. Made it maybe fifty miles in. Then there was this light.” He added the light to the painting as he said it, like an emphasis. “I thought I was seeing things. But then I blinked, and I was standing in the kitchen in Peggy’s house in New York.” He swallowed, remembering the staggering shock, followed by horror. “Peggy came home a couple hours later. She thought I’d left her and gone back to the future, but when she saw me back she knew I’d tried to change something. She told me not to tell her what I’d tried to do.”

The tree was filling out. He stretched his arm up to reach the topmost section of leaves.

“I went back three times. I tried different entry points into the country, different methods of travel. It was the same each time - I’d get to the border, get a few miles beyond it, and then that light. Like the universe itself was trying to stop me from getting to you.” He shrugged a shoulder up. “It turned out I was kind of right. Peggy came to me about spikes in energy happening at the SHIELD base where she worked. Howard had the Tesseract stored there. It had activated each and every time I tried to get into Russia.” Another dip into paint, another stroke of color. “So I snuck in to see it myself. Peggy helped divert attention so no one would notice me. When I got to it, it was…well, let’s just say I got the sense it was angry with me. And I knew as long as it was there I was going to keep getting sent back across the world.”

“So what did you do?”

“Peggy and I discussed our options. She still didn’t know what I was trying to change, only that it was important to me. She offered to try and figure out how to deactivate the Tesseract, or have it shielded in some way.” The light patches of the tree were nearly done. “Nothing we tried worked. I came up with plans that didn’t involve going to Russia. I could have told the entire world what HYDRA was planning. Found Zola half a century earlier. Every time I’d think of something different, that same light came back, warning me what would happen if I tried. Moving me around when I did. Even for things that didn’t involve going after you, but changing the world in some other way. When I tried to move myself into positions where it doing that would cause a scene, somehow it didn’t.” He sighed, needing to let his arm drop at last. “Loki told me he had an understanding with the Tesseract. Kind of felt like I had the opposite.”

And he hadn’t said anything about it, trying to force down the thoughts around it. Because in the end, it hadn’t mattered. He hadn’t changed anything, except for a joyous and loving reunion with Peggy that had been surrounded by the world itself souring so much that he hadn’t known what to do with himself.

And maybe a small part of himself hadn’t wanted to let Bucky know how he’d failed him, even when he’d had all the cards and a second chance.

“Felt like some kind of joke,” Steve said. “I could go back, I could have Peggy, but everything else…” He changed brushes, making himself shift into movement, bending to darken the ground around the base of the trunk, to fill in the grass. “I thought about getting the Tesseract out of that timeline entirely. Just for a little while, enough that I’d be able to do what I’d need to do and then move on.” He swallowed, adding depth to the colors around a huge, winding root. “Peggy was there to stop me.”

“No. Steve, no. You can’t keep doing this.”

“I have the answer now.”

“This is not the answer and you and I both know it. You’ll change this one thing, finally, and then what? Will your satisfaction fill you until the end? Or will it be but a drop? Do you know where you can go where you do not need to fight against the tidal forces of creation itself to make a difference?”

“Peggy…”

“I know. The fact that you have stayed here as long as you have is a testament to just how much you want this.” Her voice was quiet and trembling; the shine in her eyes was bright, reflecting blue. “But sometimes we need to move on.”

The nausea was everything, now. He forced himself to keep painting, locking the tree into the ground. There was no joy in it, no drive. No solace like Bucky could find when he tended to his plants.

But he never expected to find it, not in the painting itself. He was doing it because he wanted to help.

“Peggy knew I wasn’t lying when I told her I loved her and wanted to be with her,” he said. “She said it was unrealistic for any one person to pin all of their happiness on someone else. That no human could stand up to that kind of pressure. She wasn’t at all surprised I was falling apart.” He took a step back - the tree wasn’t done, not by a long shot, lacking the same details and small accents of life he’d added to the others. But it looked enough like them now that it could almost pass as finished. “So we went dancing one more time. Then we said our goodbyes.”

He set the paints down and straightened. When he turned around Bucky was all but facing him - all but his eyes, huge and sorrowful, still directed at the ground. He looked heartbroken.

“Jesus,” Bucky breathed, exhaling so hard he shuddered with it. “That’s awful.”

Steve didn’t respond, knowing one wasn’t needed.

Bucky was quiet again, too, digesting Steve’s story. A minute later he was shaking his head, a sound forming in his throat, something too faint and half-formed and pained to be a laugh.

“What?” Steve asked.

Bucky shook his head again with more emphasis. When he spoke, his voice was a croak. “They told me no one was looking for me, before I…” He trailed off, swallowing, and finally looked up and made eye contact. “Guess they were wrong.”

Steve exhaled heavily, wishing they could have been more than just wrong. “Yeah,” he agreed. “They were.”

Bucky’s lips twisted. “And when you came back to this time…”

“That was hard,” Steve admitted. “Seeing you and Sam helped a lot. But I had to go figure a few things out before I could settle back down.”

“I know that one,” Bucky muttered sadly. He turned back to the window, looking out at the garden, but it was an instinctive but brief check now instead of an all out draw for his attention. “You didn’t say anything,” he said, sounding faintly shocked. “I had no idea.”

Of course he hadn’t. “It didn’t make a difference,” Steve said.

Bucky gestured towards the front door. “So you think whatever the Space Stone did to you Loki can fix?”

“That wasn’t why I made the offer to have him take the energy,” Steve quickly corrected, needing Bucky to understand that. “There’s no Space Stone to worry about here. And I’m not going back.” The words were certain - whatever confusion he’d gotten himself enmired in back in the past was long gone. He still added after them, “I’m right where I want to be.”

Bucky turned and looked at him so sharply then that it hurt Steve to see.

“And I’d kind of hoped you felt the same way,” he finished.

Bucky’s eyes filled with that familiar spark of wariness again, but this time it didn’t last, or stir him into avoidance. It shuttered behind resignation as he glanced towards his couch. He did move then, but now he was coming closer to Steve instead of moving away, albeit with the slowness and trepidation of a man facing the executioner’s block.

When he sat it was with a bleak heaviness, his hands draped in his lap and his eyes flicking to the windows one last time before he clamped them shut. “I - shit.”

“Take your time,” Steve said, watching Bucky struggle to breathe and gear himself up in just the same way that Steve had done.

“Okay. Fuck. Okay.” Bucky opened his eyes, and the heartbroken expression he’d directed at Steve earlier had returned full force and seemed to seep into every part of his body, curving his spine forward and bowing his head as his hands clamped into each other. He inhaled shakily. “I…didn’t save Stark,” he said. “I didn’t save him.”

Steve frowned, unsure of what exactly that meant, not wanting to argue with Bucky yet when it was clear how difficult this was for him.

Bucky looked up at Steve, mouth opening and closing like he couldn’t find his voice, a sheen coming to his eyes as he finally wrestled the words out.

“I killed him.”

Chapter Text

The next few seconds after his admission were quiet. Bucky sat on the couch, trying to take in even breaths in the stifling air of his house as the raw ache of his stomach felt like it was spreading into his lungs. Steve stood in front of him, absorbing the words, brow furrowing deeply as he passed from confusion to utter solemnity, straight and tall even as Bucky felt his spine bend.

“But Tony’s alive.”

Bucky looked down at the floor between his feet, staring at the build up of dirt and dust on the hardwood. Behind him, he could hear a buzzing fly as it crashed against one of the living room windows.

The sound of bones cracking played through his head like an old song.

He swallowed through his tightening throat and kept his eyes down, his hair dangling in his peripheral vision. “Yeah.”

“He was alive after the battle,” Steve said. “He and Pepper gave you this house.”

“Steve,” Bucky said, half a protest and half defeat.

Steve went quiet again. Bucky didn’t look back up to check his expression. God, he wished he wasn’t such a coward.

Steve had put everything on the line to save Bucky, and had just admitted to putting himself through hell trying to do even more. He’d taken the Space Stone and used it to help beat an entire alien army, then almost gone against it trying to change a past that didn’t want to be changed.

He’d looked so damn tired after explaining everything he’d done in the 40s, that bone deep ache he always kept hidden painting every line on his face.

Bucky didn’t know what would have happened if Steve had succeeded in getting him out of HYDRA’s hands that early in the timeline. He figured that didn’t have any easy answers. Maybe this - Bucky Barnes sitting on a couch, admitting to another violent crime in a sea already awash with blood, was one of the best case scenarios.

But Steve’s choices, the drive that had led him to do what he’d done, were what mattered.

I’m right where I want to be, he’d said.

Bucky sucked in a breath. He tried to tell his body to straighten up, but his spine refused to uncurl.

“Everyone was trying to get to Stark,” he said, voice low. “Rocket knew I’d get there first. He told me to use the vibranium arm to help him.” Bucky felt his body tingle, remembering the feeling of burning radiation seeping into his skin as he’d bolted to where Stark was kneeling, magnified unbelievably as he’d clamped their palms together. “When I made contact…” He shook his head. “I knew Stark was dying.” Bucky swallowed, felt the tension in his forehead as his eyebrows drew together. “He was scared.” God, Stark had been so scared. “He didn’t want to leave his wife and daughter behind. But he was making his sacrifice for them; for the entire universe. He wanted it more than he was scared of it.” Bucky flexed his metal hand. “And he was angry that I’d stopped it.”

He managed to glance up, just for a second. Steve was listening intently, shadowed lines between his brows, his focus on Bucky like he’d never thought to focus on anything else in his entire life.

Bucky could practically feel that he wanted to say something, to interject to soften the blow on all of this. Mention how, in the end, the actions Bucky’d taken hadn’t been both a massive fuckup and proof of the fact he was still a killing machine. He had saved both Stark and the universe, after all.

But Bucky wasn’t done yet.

Stark was panting, bloodied, staring at Bucky through wide eyes as his movement to snap his fingers was stymied by the rigid grip of vibranium.

The Stones were active; their power overtook everything. The roar of battle, snarling creatures and shouting people, the flashing lights, the smell of blood and burning flesh and alien machinery, the sheer godlike presence of Thanos himself - they all quieted, slowed, became distant.

Bucky’s mind was lighting up for an entirely different reason. The workings of his metal arm screeched with warning as energy flowed into it, but he barely noticed as the connection from the Stones linked him up with Stark’s thoughts, let him know exactly what the man trying to save the world was feeling and thinking as he once again came face to face with his parents’ killer. He felt the wild transition of shock-fear-rage as it happened, disbelief and remembered horror in grainy footage of Howard’s face breaking beneath a metal fist, Maria Stark calling for her dead husband in anguish moments before she’d been strangled by their brutal, unstoppable assailant.

Bucky’s own memories of the event immediately sprung up in an involuntary reaction – giving Stark a firsthand experience of the mind of an activated Winter Soldier, no thought for the suffering of others, no thought for the feeling of warmth and softness of the throat he’d crushed beneath his palm. There was only the mission.

A wild storm of motivations and urges and emotions slammed through the two of them, cacophonous, spewing from a power so great it threatened to rip them to atoms at one wrong move. Bucky saw his metal arm blown off in Siberia, felt the vengeful despair of a man in the throes of betrayal. His own memories answered back with feelings of guilt and desperation for survival and a fierce urge to protect the one person on Earth who still believed in him.

In the midst of all of that, the energy killing Stark was gladly dispersing to stretch between them. Bucky’s shoulder took up a horrendous ache where vibranium met flesh, and in the next second he knew - it wasn’t just dispersing - Stark was sending it into him. He was so angry. As angry as he’d been in Siberia.

The rest of the world was still slowed down when Bucky started pushing back.

Vibranium clenched down. Nanobot metal scrambled to compensate and defend.

Energy poured into him; Bucky couldn’t tell where he ended and Infinity began.

”No - don’t you dare, Barnes, don’t you fucking dare!”

Stark’s bones shattered in a blast of purple light and a burst of horrendous agony. He stopped fighting.

He stopped thinking. Bucky felt him stop thinking.

The Stones pulled at him immediately, eager for the next source now that the first was dead.

Then there was another mind, connected to a small grey hand that clamped over Bucky’s wrist in panic - whatdidyoudowhattheFUCKdidyoudoshitwegottafixthis. Along with the words, Bucky felt a push at his mind, furious and determined.

A bolt of green energy spilled out from the Stones. The mess of pulp and metal in Bucky’s grasp began to reform, retaking its solid shape. The bleak emptiness he’d felt from Stark’s mind sputtered, then coalesced back into terrible, agonized, disoriented existence.

Then the Stones exploded free of Stark’s gauntlet to shoot across the battlefield, leaving a single pulsing purple light gripped in Bucky’s fist.

He dropped it, and as the world sped back up he saw another hand, large and humanoid and streaked with ash, lift the stone from the ground. He smelled the ozone as a strong grip clamped over his shoulder, another mind joining in with his. It told him the fight wasn’t over. Radiation coursed back through him, and then the next few moments were like the polar opposite of the mindwipe machine - instead of being hollowed out and erased he was being filled, joined with an entire army, again not thinking to save, but thinking to kill.

He kept his eyes on Stark while he thought along with them.

Back in his gifted house, sitting across from the man who’d been his best friend, Bucky stayed hunched over his own legs as he let Steve take a minute to absorb it all.

He’d said everything that mattered. Revealed the fact that he wasn’t some kind of hero who’d miraculously intervened at the height of battle, single-handedly ensuring that Stark could live and their army could win against Thanos.

His contribution to the war boiled down to taking out a few enemy combatants, successfully defending a handful of their allies from harm, then distracting and personally killing one of their most vital soldiers while he’d been in the middle of literally saving the entire universe. Bucky had almost lost them everything.

“No one else saw it,” Steve noted.

Bucky shrugged, staring at the grooves of his metal hand. “It was like it never happened. I don’t know why.”

What he did know was the sound of Stark’s bones as they’d been pulverized in his grip.

“Does Tony remember?”

Bucky remembered blood splashing on the ground, an agonized breath rushing over his face. He gave his own sigh, shaky and weak. “He remembers.”

“And Rocket…”

“Obviously didn’t know I’d killed Stark’s parents or what happened in Siberia when he asked me to interfere. If he hadn’t been there…” He set his chin against his chest, unable to finish, even though he’d seen it - the end result. An image to slot along Howard and his wife. “Guess that’s what happens when you give the Winter Soldier universal power.”

“You didn’t want it,” Steve said. He was still looking for an out from this.

“Yeah, I did,” Bucky said, his eyes finally flicking up. There was no more point in hiding any part of it. “The Stones knew.”

Steve’s expression was set hard, his arms folded over his chest. “Take it from the guy who spent the better part of two years trying to go against one - they’re not the be all end all.”

“All I had to do was think about wanting to save him more than I wanted him to stop,” Bucky said, dropping his eyes again to the neglected floor. “I could feel everything. It was his worst nightmare. I still killed him.”

Steve stopped arguing. Bucky heard him shifting his arms, dropping them to his sides. “So this house…”

Bucky shook his head. “Mrs. Potts gave me the deed to the property. I don’t know what Stark told her. If he told her.” He shrugged, his jacket creaking. “Maybe he thought it was better to know where I was staying.” He raised his eyes; his stare found the window, looking out to the line of trees in the distance, and the fly that was still futilely beating itself against the glass, seeking warmth and sunlight. “I kept to myself here. For a while. I tried to convince myself that when Stark finally showed up, I’d let him do whatever the hell he wanted.” He let his eyes go pointedly to where his weapon was situated across the room, resting against the wall. Steve’s gaze went there too. “Doesn’t stop me from picking up a gun whenever anyone comes to the door.”

Bucky was done. The silence washed in again.

He could see the unhappiness lingering in Steve’s posture at his admission, the tightness around his eyes as he looked at the wall, the ceiling, and then the floor.

He wasn’t saying anything in rebuttal. Steve had come back out of the hell of a time he couldn’t change. And now he had this.

Bucky was at least sorry that this was all he could offer Steve, after everything. But he didn’t know, if at any point in the future push came to shove, that he could promise peace. Even if he wanted to.

After a while, Steve sighed heavily, then looked at the front door. “Come on,” he said firmly, jerking his head in indication. “Let’s go.”

Bucky straightened warily as Steve stepped away. “Go where?”

“We still haven’t gotten those potatoes for Sam,” Steve said, casual, with a hint of command. “He’s going to wake up any minute now. And Loki’s going to need a good meal for his recovery.”

Bucky slowly got up from the couch, feeling unbalanced. He didn’t move to follow.

“He wanted tomatoes, too,” Steve said, turning his head to glance back at Bucky, sunlight streaming through the window to light the back of his neck. “If you want to show me how, I can help harvest.”

Bucky stood frozen at the side of the couch, in his half destroyed living room, a drying mural on the wall, staring at the surety of Steve Rogers, inviting him outside to do some gardening after everything he’d admitted.

“You still don’t get it,” Bucky said, voice weak.

“You’re not a killer, Bucky,” Steve said, stubbornness leaching into his voice.

Bucky felt his own stubbornness answer back. “You need me to get a dictionary for you? Think the meaning of the word has slipped your mind.”

“Even if you were,” Steve said, “I know you’re trying to be better.”

“I thought that, too,” Bucky said, grinding his teeth. He turned his gaze aside. “But it doesn’t go away.” He gave a sharp exhale. “Fuck, Steve. You’re the only reason I didn’t crush Loki’s throat that first week he was here.”

Steve stared at Bucky for a while. Then he turned away, opening the door, giving Bucky a clear view of Loki resting on the grass beneath the trees, and the yard and all of its growing plants beyond.

“No, I’m not,” Steve said, solemnly. Definitively. “And you don’t need to hand yourself over to Wakanda. We can ask Loki to stay and help us.”

Like it was that easy. Like any of them had a clue of what that help was going to entail. What it would do to Loki.

Odds were it would probably end with Bucky finishing the job that Thanos had started.

“He wants to see his brother again,” Bucky said, unwilling to take Steve’s side. “If he dies first-”

“He won’t,” Steve said. “Because you don’t want him dead.” He lifted his arm, muscles cording. “And he’ll practice with me.”

Bucky felt his body stay stiff, resistant.

Steve frowned at his hesitance. He stepped back into the living room, coming to a stop right in front of Bucky with that easy closeness he’d never stopped offering. His eyes softened, and Bucky could see that the sadness Steve had let out earlier hadn’t quite been beaten back down. It was there in the downward curve of his lips, the slope to his shoulders, the quiet sigh he let whisper through parted lips.

Steve should be retired, Bucky thought. He should be out there living his life, a long-deserved reward after all the shit the world had thrown at him, everything he’d done for the universe.

He deserved to go dancing again.

“Come on, Buck,” Steve said, reaching out to pat Bucky on the shoulder, his hand lingering in place. “It’s not like this is the end of the world.” He quirked his brow, brave face fully back on display. “We already dealt with that.”

“Doesn’t mean it won’t happen again,” Bucky said, voice quiet.

Steve exhaled heavily, glancing down as the quirk of a smile slipped from his face. “No, it doesn’t.” He let his hand slide down Bucky’s shoulder, down the sleeve of his jacket, until his fingers brushed vibranium, then gently, firmly, pressed against it.

Color flared along the metal hand, while an echo of blue lit up beneath Steve’s skin, stretching up his bare arm. Bucky froze, nearly choked on his next breath as adrenaline flooded his veins.

Steve watched it, letting the silence linger, like he was daring the energy inside to try something, or waiting for that arm to be ripped away.

Bucky very carefully did not move, letting his mind go blank. Loki had said it was fine. Loki had said…

When Steve met his eyes, it was with something relieved. “But it’s not now,” he said, tightening his grip meaningfully against Bucky’s palm, a fierce strength in his hold. “And it’s not gonna be because of you.”

Bucky swallowed roughly. His heart pounded loudly in his ears. “God, you really did take all the stupid with you.”

“Oh, I think there’s still plenty of it right here in front of me,” Steve said.

Bucky felt his fingers twitch, but then Steve was drawing back. The glow between them faded.

“It’s all right,” Steve reassured as he headed back to the front door. “As soon as Loki feels up to it, we’ll start.” He waited for a beat. “He really likes you, you know.”

Bucky felt a jolt, his gaze going back to the garden, Loki’s black hair gleaming on the ground. He was probably going to need another wash sooner rather than later after his nap in the dirt.

“It’s just desperation for survival,” Bucky said, trying to downplay Steve’s observation.

“I don’t think so,” Steve said, crossing onto the porch. “He told me you were gentle.”

Bucky nearly choked again. “What?”

But either Steve didn’t hear him, or he didn’t want to answer. Bucky watched him cross towards the garden, to where Valkyrie was sitting with her back against her winged horse, which was resting on the ground with its legs tucked up against its body.

He looked down at his vibranium hand, the memory of Steve’s confident grip superseding everything else.

Bucky wanted to believe everything could be fine. He wanted to believe Loki’s judgment, both in the harmlessness of the energies and his own ability to touch without breaking. He wanted to believe that maybe Stark wouldn’t ever come looking for his pound of flesh, that Bucky could step down, stay aside, until the next fight called for him.

Most of all, he wanted to believe that Steve really was where he wanted to be.

Chapter Text

When Loki next awoke, it was with a slow easing towards consciousness. He thought he might have heard voices, but they were lulling sounds of varying cadences that he barely had the capacity for understanding.

What he did know, even in his half-awakened state, was that despite the weighty pull of his exhaustion, the feeling of lingering pains and his absolute inability to fend for himself, he was safe. The air was warm, the ground beneath him was firm, and his broken body was steadily healing.

After some indeterminable amount of time, his awareness began to stir further to the forefront, though he found himself far too relaxed to open his eyes or bring himself to move from his comfortable position. He noted the drifting smell of roasting food, and swallowed convulsively as his body was quick to rouse the rest of the way at the prospect of a meal. His ears sharpened next - some distance from him he could hear bickering, recognition blooming for the voices of Barnes and Captain Wilson.

“I thought we were cooking them inside.”

“No, I had you parboil them inside so they won’t have to stay on the grill as long. Less chance of burning them.”

“But you want me to take the garlic and rosemary back into the kitchen.”

“And saute them.” There was a beat of silence. “Look, man, feel free to toss all of that on the potatoes right here and now if your preferred seasoning is charcoal.”

“Just seems like a lot of clean up.”

“Shut up - you told me you like the clean up. Anyway, it’s a damn crime you’ve been letting this grill go to waste in your garage all this time. This thing costs like six thousand dollars.”

“Yeah, well…”

The crunch of footsteps made their way across the yard, slowing to a stop as they neared Loki. He felt his skin tingle, and knew without a doubt that he was being observed. After a few seconds, the steps continued on, growing faint and disappearing entirely with the sound of a door opening and closing.

He was startled when someone spoke just a few feet from his head. “That one could stare the antlers off a herd of bilgesnipe.” Valkyrie. Loki had forgotten about her arrival. He kept still, wanting to listen in without her knowledge of his waking. “That’s his fourth time disregarding orders to come back out here. He’s gotten that attached to Loki in so little time?”

Rogers answered, just as near, his voice quiet and fond. “Bucky’s always been like that.”

“With a passion for helping the half-dead?”

“I wasn’t exactly in the greatest of health when we were kids,” Rogers admitted. “Some winters were rougher than others.”

A latent memory sprung to life in Loki’s mind of his invasion of Earth - his wits, honed razor-sharp by desperation and crazed ambition, carefully taking in information on his future enemies from his recently created thralls. Barton, describing the life of a sickly man transformed into a mighty soldier and respected commander. At that point in time Loki had been very uninterested in what Steve Rogers had been, needing only to know the power of what he had become.

He’d underestimated the strength that such spirit could bring to a body that faced struggles beyond its means. But now, he supposed, he could be grateful for it.

“Still…wouldn’t have expected it for this idiot.” There was a quick scraping sound against the ground, a rush of air, and he felt the itch of something light and smelling of earth as it fell against his cheek.

Loki felt his brow crease in offense. Finally, he brought himself to open his eyes and take in the world around him.

He was quick to be distracted - the sun had long passed its zenith for the day; lower to the horizon it formed long shadows but cast the ground with a rivaling brightness. A breeze rushed over him, brushing his skin with cool air as it rippled along through the grass surrounding him. The sun’s rays seemed to dance upon the blades as they moved in a show of brilliant green. He stared, mesmerized at the display of color and life.

“And he’s up. Oops.”

Loki gave a start, slowly craning his head towards the source of the voice, the thing on his face - a small patch of dead plant matter - falling to the ground as he moved. He found Valkyrie sitting on the grass not far from his head, nursing a bottle of beer that suffused the air with its tang, her long dark hair resting over her shoulder. At her side sat Rogers, muscled arms exposed to the glowing sunlight, a pencil in his hand and a sketchbook upon his bent knee. Valkyrie’s winged horse stood some distance behind them, grazing at wild plants while a nearby herd of deer watched it with rapt attention and curiosity.

“It would seem so,” Loki murmured, reaching up and wiping his cheek free of residual dirt. He cautiously attempted further movement, grimacing as his body reacted with sharp discomfort and stiffness. He shook his head at the concerned expressions being directed his way - he ached considerably, but it was not unbearable.

Though perhaps his gauge for what levels of pain he would name as unbearable had been unforgivingly influenced by the last several years. Still, his recovery was promising.

His eyes went to the pencil in Rogers’s hand as he pushed himself into a sitting position. “Did I provide an adequate model for your illustrations?”

Color flared lightly along Rogers’s cheeks, the quirk of a smile forming on his face as he dropped his eyes. Valkyrie was mid-drink, her eyebrows raised at the question. She lowered her bottle, swallowed, and then turned her gaze to Rogers. “Might as well show him.”

Rogers lowered the book and held it out, presenting a sketched view of Valkyrie’s horse resting in the grass. Loki, having succeeded in stabilizing himself completely upright, leaned forward and squinted at the image. For a moment he wondered if he was simply being teased, then caught the sight of the representation of his own face and hints of his body curled beneath a partially extended feathered wing.

“You were starting to go red in the direct sunlight,” Rogers said by way of explanation. “Bucky didn’t want you to get burned. Your body was dealing with enough.”

“Could say that again,” Valkyrie muttered.

Loki looked from the page to Rogers’s face. “Well,” he said. “I feel much better, now.”

Rogers nodded, unsurprised. He carefully closed the sketchbook.

“Even with your face?” Valkyrie asked.

Loki frowned warily. “What would be wrong with my face? Besides you throwing dead leaves onto it.”

“A wasp tried to chew it off,” she said bluntly. “She didn’t get very far, but you could tell she was really going for it.”

“The mark’s almost gone now,” Rogers offered, looking a little guilty.

“Thought your bodyguard was going to take our heads off when he noticed,” Valkyrie said, shoulders jerking up in a brief shrug. “Tried telling him that if Thanos and his life-erasing Gauntlet couldn’t squeeze the life out of you I doubted an insect was going to manage it.”

Loki could have gone without being reminded of that so many times in one day. He breathed through the memory, easier to endure than before, his eyes darting upwards for confirmation of the sun. Now that it had been mentioned, he did notice a strange stinging on his cheek. It was superficial, and of no comparison to his self-inflicted hurts.

And Barnes, ever concerned, had apparently taken grievance with it. Loki did not know if he should be more exasperated or touched.

A shout sounded behind him. “Good time to wash up those hands, dinner’s on in twenty.” Loki twisted his head to find Captain Wilson standing in front of a silver machine nearer to the house, smiling under darkly tinted glasses as he waved a pronged cooking implement. “You think you’re good for full solids? Or should I have Buck break out the blender?”

Loki swallowed.

It was Rogers who assisted Loki to the bathroom, one arm around him while the other held a bundle of fresh clothing. “I guess we should think about getting you some shoes,” he remarked.

“I placed an order this morning on Barnes’s phone,” Loki breathed, the sting of his recently acquired injuries reawakening with strenuous movement. After such a rejuvenating rest he felt he had energy to push through the pain. Enough even to invite more.

“Right,” Rogers said, helping him down on the closed toilet lid. “I should have guessed that.”

“What garments you have chosen will do in the meantime,” Loki assured, holding out his hand for them.

He chose the most difficult option first, which would be changing out of the patterned green trousers. He’d had assistance from Barnes that morning, but now his purpose in making the attempt alone was twofold: his own satisfaction in seeing if he could force the task to completion, and to prove his growing capability before he reminded Rogers of the suggestion he’d made that morning.

It was not a graceful endeavor. His movements were made with grinding teeth and huffing breaths as he fought to not lose his seating. Rogers washed his hands at the sink and then stood in the center of the room, observing quietly and giving no comment or offer of aid.

Eventually, Loki was successful in pulling on the new fabric, which was soft and black, and then immediately worked to remove the shirt he’d been given that morning. He felt his vision waver and was forced to pause to catch his breath, taking time to observe the fading bruises across his torso from his frantic and clumsy escape from Valkyrie’s intrusion. Still appallingly weak compared to his vigor before the long fall, but an improvement nonetheless.

“How long was I asleep?” he asked, intentionally downplaying the fact that he was still too lightheaded to move.

Rogers, who’d begun looking towards the bathtub in contemplation, turned back to him. “About seven hours,” he answered.

Loki nodded, finally pulling the fresh shirt over his head. He paused again to take a few fortifying breaths through his stinging ribs and spine.

“Ready for the sink?” Rogers asked, holding his arm out.

Part of Loki, now less eager for additional physical exertion, wanted to answer in the negative. He knew the true answer, though, and he suspected Rogers did as well.

Even should he fail, it was better that he make the attempt at all.

He clamped his hand against Rogers’s forearm, using the leverage to pull himself into standing, very aware that despite his recovery, his caretakers still possessed strengths that more than rivaled his current state. Rogers guided him the few steps to the sink, gave him a moment to steady himself, then removed the brace of his arm.

Loki stood unaided on aching legs, staring into the mirror as he breathed heavily through parted lips. Rogers was positioned closely behind him, strong and firm, again seemingly content to allow Loki to find for himself exactly where his current limits existed.

He swallowed, reaching for the gleaming silver of the faucet handles. Water slid over his hands as he attempted and failed to ignore the heat at his back. “Does your offer still stand? To withdraw the Space Stone’s imprint?”

“Yes it does,” Rogers said, his breath warm on the back of Loki’s neck. “Are we looking at the same timeline?”

“We are,” Loki said, at least confident enough in that. He swallowed, turned off the water, then grasped for the plum-colored cloth that hung down from a silver ring near the sink. “And…I would request to be outside. For the process.” He darted his eyes up to the mirror. “If that’s all right.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Rogers said, meeting his eyes with a small smile. “Let’s go join the others.”

Loki felt the gentle press of hands against his hips, and gasped as he dropped the cloth to the floor and grasped at the sink, the frisson caused by Rogers’s touch nearly sending him to the floor. He shut his eyes tightly, deeply hoping Rogers thought his response simply from weakness.

“Your grip is a poor support,” Loki commented, fingers curling tightly against cool porcelain.

“Yep,” Rogers said, flippantly casual. He removed one hand briefly, reaching down to grab the fallen cloth and replace it upon its ring. “That’s because you’re going to be doing most of the work.”

Of course he was.

Loki took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. Cautiously, he allowed his hands to release the sink. His legs supported him, but again made it very clear that there was a fast approaching point of failure should he push himself too far. The hands on his hips remained, lingering against thin fabric but presenting no real balance.

He knew he was going to pay for this effort.

He had hope, however, that he would also be rewarded for it.

When they exited the bathroom, Rogers did not direct Loki towards the pile of padding and blankets that had been his usual spot in the house, but to the kitchen. He was startled to find that while Barnes, Captain Wilson and Valkyrie were already seated at the large table within, bowls and platters of food resting before them, there were two more place settings resting unused.

“You can handle it,” was all Rogers said when Loki hesitated.

Loki knew he could handle it. That was not exactly the source of his confusion. Their care of him he’d come to accept, but to be allowed a place at the table among them, as if he was a longtime friend, a member of their group…it felt odd. If it had happened sooner in his stay here, he might have turned the decision over in his head in a wary search for a trap, or expected an interrogation in exchange for the privilege of partaking in such generosity.

How glad he was to have calmed beyond that. But he couldn’t prevent the buzz beneath his skin as he was guided towards a seat of polished wood, an unease that waited for this - along with the maddening tingle from the warmth and pressure of Rogers’s steady presence - to be revealed as some peculiar dream.

The fact that it was not was given credence by the fact that Barnes and Captain Wilson had evidently not finished their round of heated discussions for the day.

“If you’ve got options, you should take them,” Captain Wilson said.

“I don’t need all of that,” Barnes responded, a dark shadow upon his brow as he served himself generous portions of the available food.

“This isn’t about need. We don’t technically need a car to get to the next town over but it sure as hell beats walking.”

“And a portal-creating horse beats a car,” Valkyrie said, using her foot to slide out Loki’s seat as he neared.

“My point is,” Captain Wilson said, reaching for a platter that held a large pile of sliced meat, “you like it. It makes your life easier. And it’s gonna make your life more enjoyable.”

Barnes didn’t answer, instead turning his attention on Loki - who, to be fair, was now making his approach while loudly filling his lungs with the desperation of someone who’d just sprinted for miles.

“Here’s one who’d agree about a lot of things being better than walking,” Valkyrie said.

Loki did not have the breath to respond. When the table was within reach, he all but slammed his hands down to support himself, every muscle and tendon in his legs and core viciously burning. Rogers reached out and grasped firmly at his forearm to prevent the violent shaking of the limb from making him lose his hard won victory at the last moment. Barnes slid his gaze from Loki’s face to that grip. The shadow never left his expression.

Loki took note of that forbidding look as he all but fell into his seat with grateful grunt, curiosity rushing to the forefront of his concerns even through his fatigue.

“Sure, just go back to ignoring me,” Captain Wilson said, effectively breaking that small tension as Barnes dragged his gaze away.

“I’m not interested in being materialistic,” Barnes grumbled, reaching for his own drink and pointedly avoiding all gazes as Rogers rounded the table and took his seat beside him.

Captain Wilson leaned forward as if that would not dissuade him from gathering attention. “You’re still dodging everything I just said. You’re not gonna convince me living like a monk is what you want out of life.”

Barnes flicked his eyes up to Loki, for just a moment, then again let them fall. “I’m not living like a monk.” The words were spoken quickly and quietly, and Barnes took a long drink at their end.

Beside him, Rogers notably dipped his head. He then scrutinized his empty plate with brows drawn together and his hand curling around the handle of his fork with far too much strength. The blue of his eyes brimmed with emotion, the lines of his face drawn tight. Barnes, preoccupied again with his determined stare into nothingness, didn’t seem to notice.

Loki narrowed his gaze, trying to decipher if this was a return of their tense dynamic or a signal that the two of them had finally spoken. And if they had spoken, were the results going to speed his plan towards success or failure?

A sudden pain in his calf had him grimacing and turning to glare at Valkyrie, who was pointedly holding the platter of sliced meat out towards him, completely unapologetic about the fact she’d just kicked him to get his attention. It had been a light touch by her standards, but in his state he knew there would be a new bruise forming to match his others.

“Thank you,” he said, carefully taking the platter with more than a hint of wary irritation, serving himself quickly before placing it into the center within Rogers’s easy reach.

“Eat up,” she said, taking her second portion from a bowl and then placing it in his hands. “For your debt.”

He took the dish, laden with herbed potatoes, frustrated as his urge for sustenance and logical acknowledgment of its need for healing warred with his immediate desire for information.

The others, still engaged in their own conversation, didn’t pay the exchange any mind. “You get what I’m saying, though.” Captain Wilson said, then looked towards Rogers. “He gets it.”

“Pretty sure monks don’t have sweatpant collections,” Rogers said, finally reaching out to take his own portions.

“Or weapons,” Barnes said dryly. He took another swig from his bottle, ignoring the veritable mountain he had placed on his plate. “And they don’t drink.”

Captain Wilson gestured with his fork; Loki noted that he was still somewhat favoring his injured shoulder. “No, that’s not even a valid argument since you can’t get drunk.”

Valkyrie, who was already occupied by her first mouthful, laughed abruptly in surprise, then shook her head when their eyes fell on her, quickly chewing and swallowing, “Sorry,” she said to Barnes. “Is that your superpower?”

Barnes pressed his lips into a thin line. “Maybe,” he said, then pushed a forkful of greens into his mouth.

“Wow,” Valkyrie said. “Have you tried Asgardian liquor?”

“I have,” Rogers volunteered. “Thor liked to bring a bottle to share at parties.”

“The highest quality from our stores,” Loki said as he filled his plate from the final dish.

“Bet the Allfather loved that,” Valkyrie said.

Loki did not mention that he’d technically been the Allfather at that point, after giving Thor his blessing to return to Earth. He’d been less than pleased when he’d discovered that Thor had allowed himself such a parting gift, but at the time had found satisfaction all the same that Odin would not be partaking in his most expensive and treasured drink.

“Saw it knock lots of guys on their ass after just dipping their tongues in,” Captain Wilson said. “I thought about trying it, but I kind of wanted to keep my liver intact. Steve had a few glasses of it.”

“And?” Valkyrie asked expectantly.

Rogers sat back in his seat. “If I drink enough to fill my stomach, it… takes the edge off. For a minute or so.”

Barnes, who’d been watching Rogers with a vaguely hopeful expression, sighed.

“Wow,” Valkyrie repeated, stunned. “That…sort of explains a lot, actually.”

“Yeah,” Barnes said bluntly, taking another drink.

“You just like making me feel sorry for you because it gets you free stuff,” Captain Wilson said.

Barnes gave Wilson a sidelong glance. “I have to make up for all the food you keep taking from me somehow.”

“Hey, giving you those plants counts as an investment. This is just me cashing in.”

They kept on, descending into an inane argument, with occasional input from Rogers and Valkyrie, eventually devolving into discussing whether or not the near inability to experience any physical effects from the consumption of alcohol meant a person was considered sober on a technicality.

Loki watched as their interactions unfolded and felt a sense of something he had not for a long time. Nostalgia. Annoyance. A small, mischievous urge to push the conversation into greater discordance. How many times in his youth had he sat and watched Thor and his friends boast and argue meaninglessly, or been a part of such discussions himself, while bounties of food lay between them.

How often had he thought of such times, achingly desperate, while trapped in the endless void.

He turned his eyes to the window that sat above the kitchen sink; the sky was covered in hues of orange, darker blue encroaching above them. Soon, the sun would be gone for the day. The creeping curl of anxiety that followed was tight against his lungs, and he attempted to crush it down. In an effort to distract himself he took his first bite of his meal, and felt the shock of warmth and flavor - butter and herbs and salt - push his worry into the background as his hunger forced its way eagerly forward.

The second bite was somehow better than the first. He finished the plate eagerly, half an ear on the conversation around him, his questions and plans temporarily cast aside as he sated his hunger. He could practically feel the sparks of his depleted magic stir, sending renewed strength to his limbs.

At the meal’s end, when he thought to bring his eyes again to the window, he found that the darkness of the world beyond only served to emphasize the reflections of the people around him, the glass showing not blackness but a brightly lit table with the remnants of what had been a plentiful feast, and the richly hued colors of the painted forest that glowed on the wall behind him.

Chapter Text

Inability to get drunk notwithstanding, Steve felt a lot lighter after dinner.

It wasn’t really how he’d expected the day to end for him personally after the intensity of the revelations he and Bucky had passed between themselves. He’d tried to end their conversations on a good note, and he was profoundly grateful that Bucky had finally opened up to him, but neither admission had exactly been easy.

It felt like it was the third time in his life that Steve had been trying to move on from something so majorly destabilizing to the person he thought he was and his entire place in the world. It didn’t seem like he was getting any better at it. Getting everything out in the open, even to someone he trusted, was like lancing a wound with a jagged razor: more painful than the dull pressure and radiating ache he’d been suppressing since he’d gotten back, with exposed nerves sharply raw in the aftermath while adrenaline swirled in his blood. He’d carried the aftereffects with him deep in his chest and stomach hours after the event.

A good part of that was because it just meant that someone knew. He’d gone back in time while Bucky had been struggling, and after all of that, had been soundly prevented from following through on the extremely vital mission needed to try and make that better.

To make anything at all better.

And when it came to Bucky’s confession about what had happened when he’d interacted with the Infinity Stones… Steve knew they’d have to circle back around to that situation, eventually. To Tony. Bucky couldn’t keep just waiting around for whatever retaliation he was expecting.

Steve also knew deep down that at some point the pain for both of them would improve, especially if they kept putting effort in to make it that way. But even he hadn’t expected that just sitting outside on the ground beneath the trees bordering the house, quietly talking with Valkyrie while Loki slept on the grass in the sunlight and Bucky and Sam jokingly bickered over the process of making dinner, would be so effective at smoothing the harsh edge of his distress. It helped a whole lot that Bucky, while withdrawn around him, could find it in himself to look at Steve with his eyes softly glittering with more than just the strained and wary tension he still carried.

And with Loki’s visibly quickening recovery and the amazing meal everyone had shared, Steve’s conviction had only grown to a mountainous peak: he was going to keep moving forward.

Maybe he wasn’t exactly sure what that would look like yet. Maybe he’d always be carrying around the scarring from those regrets about the things in the past he couldn’t change - Bucky’s horrific decades-long captivity in HYDRA hands, coupled with the fact that Steve’s attempt at making a loving home with Peggy was a shining light that had been all but swallowed up by the shadows of one of his worst nightmares.

He knew there was more he could still do in this time. And, right then, it didn’t feel like it would be any less important - to him or the rest of the world.

It seemed like everyone else was at least a little on the same page about that peace. Sam, groggy and still sore from an injury from his latest mission, had come up from the guest room that afternoon freshly shaved and eager to cook. Valkyrie, who’d been blazing with anger and accusingly confrontational when she’d first seen Loki, had done a full turnaround after her conversation with him and spent the majority of dinner teasing him almost as much as Bucky, Sam and Steve did each other.

And even Loki, who’d been at the table with them for nearly two hours, stayed steady through sundown and had only sat more confident and straight as dusk passed into night and the air in the house cooled around them.

There still came a point where he reached his limit.

"Steve Rogers, if you would not mind," Loki said after a pause in conversation, shifting in his seat with a small wince. He braced his long hands palms-down on the table to support himself. "I do feel better, but a change of scenery at this time would be rather welcome."

Steve felt his surprise shift quickly into approval that Loki had opened up enough to ask for that help unprompted. The image of him, bared teeth and wild untrusting eyes in a gaunt grey face over spindly limbs, broken down beyond his last reserves, was one that Steve knew he’d remember clearly for the rest of his life even without the images of it he’d sketched out. It was different, now; if Steve had been an outsider looking in on the scene at the table, he would have noted Loki was a little thinner than the time they’d fought, but not known anything of the magnitude of what he’d suffered before getting to that point.

There sure seemed to be a lot of that going around.

“Okay,” Steve answered. He grabbed at his glass of water to down the rest in one gulp, setting it back down on the table with a light clink. He let a half smile tug at the corner of his mouth, then prodded, “You sure you don’t want to try to do it on your own?”

The way Loki’s eyes flashed, exasperated and vaguely murderous beneath half-lidded weariness, told him all he needed to know about that.

“Just checking,” Steve agreed, smile now full on his face as he rose from his seat.

“I would like to have seen that,” Valkyrie said, quickly pulling the last bits of food from the nearly emptied platters, moving her arms carefully around the six-bottle pyramid she and Sam had built between them on the table. “We could have taken bets on how far he would have gotten.”

“Steve’s a hardass coach,” Sam said, body relaxed as he leaned back in his seat. “Sometimes I’m glad I had the set limitations of a normal mortal body so he couldn’t try and get me to push further than he already did.”

“You followed him around volunteering for it,” Bucky said flatly.

“Says the original volunteer,” Sam shot back. “At least I was a grown ass man who knew what I was getting into.” Sam looked pointedly at Loki, who had managed to push his own seat back from the table. “But damn, you can’t argue with the results, though.”

“I disagree,” Loki said, soft and clipped as Steve came to a stop by his chair. “Arguing requires far less exertion.”

“Oh, haha,” Sam said dryly. “You’re still gonna do it.”

“Sam’s right,” Steve said, bending his arm at the elbow to offer it. “Let’s get you a better form of exercise.”

The Loki that cringed and flinched and braced himself at proximity and untelegraphed movement was gone. Instead, he looked at the extended arm next to him, then reached up towards Steve’s shoulder, hauling himself explosively into standing with a stifled gasp and a clench of his teeth. He leaned fully against Steve afterwards, his other hand coming around to clamp on his forearm for extra stability. Steve could feel how Loki’s body had filled out, muscle padding over what were once knobs of bone pressed into flesh. It was almost like he’d managed to gain a few pounds just from one meal.

"Thank you," Loki breathed, then jerked his head to indicate the living room. "I am eager to see your handiwork up close."

"Is it helping?" Steve asked as he slowly turned them around, Loki's fingers on his forearm tightening as they did.

"Tremendously," Loki said, and when Steve started to move forward, he matched his steps with deliberate steadying breaths. He glanced at the darkened living room windows and then just as fast flit them away. “The dark is… frightening. But I will manage.”

Loki lowered himself down once they reached his nest of cushions, a lot less fear in his eyes and body about the idea that he'd fall in the process. He caught his breath for a moment once he was down, then turned and focused fully on the mural.

It was glowing full blast on the wall, freely showing the little details Steve had tried to highlight, bursts of blooms of flowers in the undergrowth between the shadows, insects and small mammals resting or grazing in the grass, with birds up in the branches singing from their nests. They blended in during the daylight hours but came into prominence in the dimmed light of the living room, all little shining accents against the backdrop of simulated sunlight beaming through the trees.

"Ah," Loki said, staring forward. His hand was still holding Steve's forearm, like he'd forgotten he was doing it. Steve could feel Loki's pulse against his, felt the fingers move minutely against his skin.

Loki turned his eyes up to Steve then, a quiet admiration coming to them as he gripped down harder, moving Steve’s arm in a gentle shake. He spoke, soft and genuine. "Thank you."

Steve felt a warmth bloom in his chest. He nodded, happy that Loki was able to find a place within him to offer that openness. "You're welcome," he said, then turned his head sharply as a dish clattered loudly into the sink.

It looked like Bucky had started clearing the table. When he turned around he tensely made direct eye contact with Steve before picking up the next dish.

"I'd better go help with that," Steve said, confusion subduing his good mood. Bucky obviously needed something.

When he tried to pull away, Loki didn’t let go. Steve looked back at him, noting with some surprise the new strength in that hold.

"I will be ready," Loki said, meaningfully, eyes all but blazing in determination.

Steve twisted his arm experimentally; it barely budged. "You’re even stronger now than you were a few hours ago."

Loki gave a thin, self-deprecating smile. "You'd still be more than capable of overpowering me."

Gamely, Steve tested the hold on his arm again. Loki held on, a strained tension to his face offset by playful light in his eyes. It wasn’t more than a few seconds of strain before he released Steve with a grunt, hands raised in surrender.

“As I said,” Loki murmured, chest expanding as he regained his breath, curling himself over his knees in the aftermath.

“Give it time,” Steve said, flexing against the memory of that pressure. “You get better, we can have a proper rematch.”

Valkyrie was walking towards the living room with Sam as Steve headed back to the kitchen. "He doesn't seem to want my help with the cleaning," she said, indicating Bucky’s wordless focus as he cleared the beer bottle pyramid.

"He likes to stay occupied," Sam said encouragingly. "Besides, you're a guest." He slapped Steve on the shoulder as he passed. "Not a freeloader like this guy."

"Reporting for cleaning duty, Captain," Steve said.

"Think you better take that up with the Sergeant," Sam said with a glint.

"So what does that make him?” Valkyrie asked, pointing down at Loki before she plopped down beside him and helped herself to a portion of his bedding.

"Less a freeloader," Sam said, settling himself down comfortably on the couch. "More of a..."

"Pet?" Valkyrie suggested.

Sam chuckled. "I've always thought Bucky could use a cat.”

"Eats all the food, sleeps around all day, paws at the people in the house when he wants something," Valkyrie listed.

"Yes, that will be enough, thank you," Loki said sharply, pulling back some of the cushions she’d pilfered with enough force that she stared at him in shock.

Steve stepped into the kitchen, moving to help Bucky with the rest of the cleaning. Bucky’s shoulders had settled back into their hard line and his movements were too fast and agitated, but it wasn’t as bad as earlier in the day, before he’d broken down on the couch. When he saw that Steve was finally helping out he even nodded gratefully.

“The sun went down and he didn’t freak out,” Bucky said lowly, gathering the last of the beer bottles.

“You said it yourself he’s gotten better,” Steve said, grabbing an emptied platter to take to the sink. “And he told me in the bathroom that he still wants to help us.”

Bucky breathed out, dropping the bottles into the recycling; they clanged loudly against each other. “You shouldn’t have asked him that,” Bucky murmured as he turned back, grabbing the last of the dishes.

“He’s the one that brought it up,” Steve said as he helped wipe the table down with a damp cloth. “He wants to do it outside.”

Bucky’s brow pinched, then smoothed out as he worked his jaw, staring out the window above the sink. He shook his head and switched on the faucet, grabbing the first dish to run under the water. “Not sure I like that, either.”

Steve came up beside him, grabbing a bright blue dish cloth and watching as Bucky sudsed up the sink, leather still pulled over his wrists. “Feel like I should be the one to wash if you’re gonna keep your jacket on,” Steve commented.

“No,” Bucky said, stubbornly grabbing the dish brush.

Steve took a deep breath, settling his hip against the counter as he watched Bucky work. “He was okay outside today,” Steve said.

“I didn’t mean him being outside,” Bucky said. He looked over at Steve, holding out the first wet dish to dry.

Steve rubbed over the plate carefully and gently set it on the drying rack, thinking over the possibilities of what else Bucky could be troubled by now. “Are you still worried about him hurting himself?”

“All the time,” Bucky said, scrubbing a little too furiously at the tines of a fork, steel shining against vibranium. “But that’s not the thing on my mind right now.”

“So what’s on your mind?” Steve pushed. He felt like he could do that now that Bucky seemed to be holding up a door instead of a wall.

Muscles worked in Bucky’s cheek, the rest of his face going stone still. He kept scrubbing, trying to get a speck of something out.

“Buck,” Steve said, because now that they’d talked once he wasn’t going to be blocked out again. He reached out and deliberately grabbed the sleeve around Bucky’s flesh wrist, avoiding skin on skin contact as he stilled him.

Bucky froze and ground his jaw, side-eyeing Steve in wariness before he turned that gaze to the conversation happening in the living room. Steve did too, and saw Loki had not only noticed Bucky's gaze, but was staring back. He stopped when Valkyrie made a shoving motion at his shoulder that had him nearly falling to the floor until he viciously braced his core muscles and pulled himself back up to glare at her.

"See?" she said, turning to look at Sam. "You sure you don't use any kind of magical ritual when you cook?"

Sam laughed, his responding smile bright as he shook his head.

"Not here," Bucky said, curling his lip. “He’ll hear us talking.”

"Okay," Steve agreed, a little taken aback by that response. "After the dishes. I can start on the wall to your bedroom."

Something softened on Bucky's face. He looked at Steve, then finally rinsed the fork and handed it over. "You know you don't need to do that. I’m not the one who’s afraid of the dark."

"We've got plenty of supplies," Steve said with a shrug. "Seems a shame to let them go to waste. I’ll make sure the light’s a lot more subtle than the living room."

Bucky sighed, but he didn't look entirely unhappy about the prospect.

They finished the rest of the dishes in silence. When they were done, Bucky wandered wordlessly into the living room, radiating enough stress that he caught everyone’s attention. He didn’t acknowledge any of them as he efficiently gathered up most of the painting supplies before slipping away down the hall.

Steve stared after him with a frown as he wandered more slowly into the living room himself for the rest of the paints. Sam was in the process of talking about the breakfast he'd made the day Steve and Natasha had come to him for help in DC, and how that had led into the successful completion of a near impossible mission. Steve noted that Sam was omitting Bucky’s rather integral confliction to that mission.

"Look, I'm not saying it was only the food - I'm just saying, we kicked a lot more ass with it than we would have without."

"Sam," Steve said, smiling at the exchange, pushing down the niggling concern at Bucky’s behavior. "Are you okay for a watch?"

"Seeing as I've completely ruined my normal sleeping schedule for the day, yes," Sam said, carefully stretching out his arms before relaxing. "I'll be good to spend some time with the other involuntary night owl. I can get back on track tomorrow."

“Thanks,” Steve said, starting to gather supplies. He noticed that as he did Loki’s eyes were on him, staring intently like they had with Bucky. He didn't seem like he was going to be nodding off any time soon.

"I'll stay a little longer," Valkyrie said, looking between them all a little awkwardly as she folded her legs in front of her. "If that's all right."

"I am sure Barnes would not mind the additional company," Loki said, with a tone that clearly meant he thought the opposite.

"He for sure wouldn't mind having an extra set of eyes on you for as long as we can spare them," Sam said, and Loki shot him a glance of irritation. Sam raised his hands and his eyebrows. "Just saying. We interrupted his beauty sleep. Left to his own devices the man’s not exactly the earliest of early morning risers."

“So I’ll stay,” Valkyrie said brightly. “Everyone back home’s expecting I’ll be gone for weeks. What’s one more night?”

Steve smiled, arms full of the rest of the paints, turning to head down the hall. When he got to the closed door of Bucky's room, he took a steadying breath, then gently knocked with the back of his hand.

"Steve," Bucky said as he opened the door just a second later; he’d finally taken off his jacket, and his hair was out of its tie, hanging down loose on either side of his face. A brush was clutched in his metal hand. "It's been five minutes. Stop being so goddamn polite."

"Just didn't want to interrupt in case you'd changed your mind," Steve said, coming inside the room and elbowing the door closed behind him.

Bucky smiled, too briefly; the bitterness in it was cut by resignation as he made sure to keep a few feet of extra space between them now that his arms were exposed. "Already told you my darkest secret this morning.” He tossed the hairbrush onto the bedside table, the pain in his eyes fresh when he looked back. “Don’t really have any more of those worth hiding.”

Steve nodded in solemn acknowledgment. "All right. So what's the one you're worried about with Loki?"

Bucky swallowed roughly. He looked at the wall opposite his bed, and didn’t respond beyond that. Steve took the hint, wandering over and setting his armfuls of supplies down next to the ones Bucky had grabbed.

He wasn't planning on anything as vibrant here as he did with Loki. He looked through his own personal memories to visualize what he wanted - more right angles, a horizon view of a towering structure set into the backdrop of water. Bucky didn't spend much time in his bedroom during the day, so Steve was going to choose night for the sky - the twinkling of small stars would be the main focal points for the glow that would come from Tony’s special paints. He knew Bucky could suffer from fractured sleep as it was and he didn’t want anything so bright it would disrupt that. He reached down for the first set for the base layers, and got to work.

"Loki doesn't just want power," Bucky said, now that Steve’s back was turned. "This morning, after I fixed his hair, he..." Bucky trailed off, but Steve was listening now, listening carefully, because with everything else that had happened afterwards he'd almost completely forgotten about sitting outside on the couch trying to listen in on what was happening in between the two of them in the bathroom.

And that he wasn’t entirely naive about where this was probably going to go. ”Barnes has a gentler touch than he realizes,” Loki had said.

"It's like the food," Bucky said, and when Steve turned for a brief glance saw that he was rubbing metal fingers together in a nervous fidget. "When he gets touched, he…” He seemed to grasp for the words for a moment before he finished. “He likes it. A lot."

Steve hesitated in his painting, lowering his arms. Thought of Loki's reactions when he'd helped him from the bathroom to the kitchen, how he’d almost been shaking under his grip. Exertion, Steve had thought. The strain of holding his own weight. But if Bucky was right, maybe it was more.

Then he thought of Bucky in the bathroom with Loki, needing to touch him constantly in order to get him cleaned and his hair properly detangled. Thought of the way Bucky had looked after he’d come out of there, sunkissed skin flushed, eyes crystal blue and sharp, his expression…unburdened.

Not like now. Now Bucky was watching him with his eyes a little too wide, and the frown lines had come back, shadowing their color. But he was still standing across from Steve instead of trying to bolt, so they hadn’t completely gone back to square one.

Steve sighed around an ache in his stomach, trying to shove down that jealousy Sam had noticed that morning. He didn’t do a great job of it. "Did you two...?"

"No," Bucky said quickly, then bit his lip a little in frustration. "Well, not really ‘no.’" He dipped his chin, eyes back down, loose hair falling forward to hide his face. "He wanted to give me something back, he said, so I let him look me over. Like he did in the living room. Except at some point, I think he wasn't doing it specifically to look me over like he said he was. He just seemed like he wanted to touch me."

Flesh and vibranium hands curled closed. A shiver ran through Bucky’s body; so light it was barely perceptible.

Steve still perceived it.

He felt his nostrils flare, surprised at the sharp sting of anger that flared up. It didn't really have a specific direction, but he couldn't quite shake the feeling. Loki's behavior shouldn’t be completely a surprise, not after Steve had seen how the two of them had interacted after coming out of the bathroom. If it had gone even farther than that, and been that good for Bucky...

Steve looked back to the barely started mural, but he couldn’t bring himself to put paint to the wall. "And what did you think about it?"

"Mostly I thought how terrified I was that I was going to pulverize his bones again if he messed with me too much," Bucky admitted.

"You didn't do that," Steve said.

"No. He uh... he hugged me. And said thank you."

Steve turned around completely, and Bucky was still in full on avoidance mode, but there was a spark in his eyes too, like he was daring Steve to start a fight about it.

“I hugged him back,” Bucky said, letting that hang in the air.

Steve didn’t think he’d seen Bucky hug anyone since he’d gotten out of HYDRA’s hands. And the two of them had only done it a handful of times. Granted, Bucky had been dust for five years, and Steve in a different decade and then gone.

But now there was Loki.

"So you two like each other," Steve said, voice carefully even. "Is that why you're nervous about me being alone with Loki? You’re worried he’d tell me about everything?"

"No," Bucky said, brow pinching as his gaze darted up. He held Steve's eyes for a long moment, looking aggrieved. "Steve, did you hear anything I just said?"

"Let's say I didn't," Steve said, because he wasn't going to chase down the true meaning in Bucky's game and he was still feeling a little off-balance.

"Steve,” Bucky repeated, exasperated. “Yeah, maybe Loki’s crazy enough to like me. Convinced himself I’m gentle." He looked down at Steve's arm, where Loki had been holding him just minutes earlier. Steve looked down at it, too. "But he’s stronger now than he was before dinner. He probably could have made that walk to the living room.” He shook his head, voice lowering in irritation as Steve looked back up. “Didn’t need to hang onto you like a goddamn vine.” He met Steve’s eyes again, gaze steady as he worked his jaw with quiet fury. “I’m definitely not the only one he likes.”

Chapter Text

Steve stared at Bucky with his lips parted, the tension from his earlier irritation still visible in the lines between his eyebrows and the way he was breathing way too slow and deliberately for it to be a natural pattern. His eyes cast down to the floor, then back up at Bucky, confusion edging out some of the stiffness in his expression.

“You're worried Loki’s going to try something with me."

Bucky huffed, shaking his head at Steve’s statement, thinking that this was one of the last conversations he'd have wanted to end the night on. But he couldn’t let Loki’s behavior go, now that he thought he had a bigger picture of what it meant, and what was probably going to happen when Steve was alone with him.

Because whether or not Loki could drain and use the imprint the Space Stone had left in Steve was still in question. What wasn’t in question was what Bucky had already experienced that morning when he’d been alone with Loki.

It was still fresh enough that it felt like it was happening every time he thought about it: long, deft fingers that had pressed firmly into the knotted muscles of his back. An unrelenting, keen gaze, blue eyes bright as Loki had signaled for Bucky to strip out of his shirt. How his voice had sounded, full of heartfelt gratitude, as he’d spoken his thanks in Bucky’s ear, his damp body pressed to Bucky’s front.

Bucky couldn’t remember the last time anyone had thanked him for anything with that level of sincerity.

Then he thought of how Steve had guided Loki to the dinner table, so sure and sturdy, and the little looks that had crossed Loki’s face with every touch. How Loki’s hand had stayed on Steve’s wrist after he’d been guided back to the living room. Christ, he’d joked with Steve, even tried to roughhouse with him, risking a new injury for a game.

He was learning about their individual wants and needs. What opened them up.

The strength in his physical body wasn’t the only thing that was returning.

"Like I said, he’s already been trying it,” Bucky said.

"I might have noticed,” Steve admitted. “This morning. When you and Loki came out of the bathroom.” There was a subtle flush of red high on his cheeks as he spoke, his gaze going to the door as he snorted. “And he did seem pretty receptive to contact after dinner.”

Bucky sharpened his gaze, trying to gauge Steve's response, but the feelings inside of him didn't quite know what to do with themselves beyond tumble wildly into a jagged, expanding pile. Logically knowing that he had enough baggage to work through that digging through the center of the Earth seemed like it would be an easier task to undertake didn't help the guilt that came around all of that.

Steve had given him something that morning, after everything they'd aired out. Something Bucky had already spent plenty of time in the last year accepting he shouldn’t have. Now he was finding, just hours later, that he really didn’t want to give it up.

Maybe there were a lot of things he didn't want to give up. But if he admitted that to himself...

"So,” Steve said, brow furrowed in consideration as he gently moved the paint brush still clutched in his hand up and down like he was weighing it, “you don't want him trying to get the energy from me…because you're worried he might flirt?"

Bucky felt his eye twitch at just the thought, visions of what that would look like flashing through his thoughts like a slideshow. He took a balancing breath that just seemed to enhance his overstimulated mind. "Something like that."

Steve quirked his brow and spoke a little teasingly. "You know, I can just tell him 'no.'"

"That's what I thought, too,” Bucky said under his breath, “but he's really good at putting up a convincing argument.” He turned his gaze towards the bedroom door, curling his hands into fists as he second-guessed himself and felt something old and worn start to seep into his determination. “Or, I don't know - maybe I'm just too used to people telling me what to do."

He could see Steve frowning in his periphery. He couldn’t make eye contact with him. And he was feeling his emotions growing enough that it felt more and more like a physical exit from this conversation was the best route.

Then a moment later, Steve turned himself around, refocusing on his painting. Giving Bucky as much distance as he could in the enclosed space as he stretched his arms back out, the gentle sound of the brush sliding over the wall filling the room.

"So let's say it does happen,” Steve said, measured and calm, like enhanced senses aside he couldn’t tell the fact that Bucky’s heart was pounding out of his chest. “What kind of worst case scenario are we looking at here?"

Bucky had heard Steve use that tone before countless times, when they were about to undertake what would be life or death missions. He wished he knew whether or not this would be easier than any of those.

He wished he knew anything, after all this time, instead of always feeling like he was about to fall off a cliff.

"I don't know," he said, wondering how he could feel so wrung and low and panicked at the same time.

Steve met his hesitance with confidence. "But you're guessing it's going to be bad. For you."

"I don't know," Bucky repeated, frustration giving him a kernel of focus. He jerked his head back around to stare at Steve’s shoulders, then moved his gaze lower. He kept seeing images of Loki hanging off of him, pressing into him. "This wasn't exactly something I thought was going to come up on my list of complex problems."

"Do you like Loki?"

Bucky pressed his lips together, scowling at Steve's bluntness. "What the hell kind of question is that?"

"A straightforward one," Steve said, eyes on his work like he wasn’t bothered by this, when just a few minutes earlier he’d been so pissed off that he hadn’t understood what Bucky had been trying to say.

“Maybe it would be if I wanted to break every other bone in his body,” Bucky snarled, that jagged pile inside him growing mountainous.

"He's getting stronger," Steve pressed, unstoppable as a train. "And if he can successfully use the energy he gets from me, he'll be even closer to better.”

Bucky felt a squeeze in his lungs at that thought. He fell quiet, felt his gaze dart back to the bedroom door, now with more urge to rush back through it, slip outside and see where his legs took him. God, after their talk that morning, he’d thought…

“Buck?” Steve prompted, the silence stretching too long.

Bucky stared at the shine of the doorknob. "I shouldn't have brought this up.” He’d thought he’d known what he was doing; he should have known better. He wasn’t exactly the epitome of understanding when it came to human relationships.

"Well, it's up, now," Steve said, a stern edge to the words, pulling Bucky in further when all he wanted to do was lash out or back down. "We're either going to talk about it, or we're pushing it under to let it fester. And I don't know about you, but I haven't found much luck in the second choice."

"The first one isn't all roses and butterflies, either," Bucky snapped. Steve stopped moving, and Bucky shut his eyes. "Shit. I told you I shouldn’t have mentioned it.” He felt his body loosen as he forced himself to let go of what he was trying to hold onto. “After everything you've done for me, this is the last thing you need."

"I think I can decide what I do and don't need," Steve said. Bucky nodded numbly in agreement, even if Steve wouldn’t see it. "I want to help Loki. I want to help you. If one of those things is going to cause irreversible damage to the other, I'd like to know that, too."

Bucky swallowed past the lump in his throat, then inhaled until his lungs felt like they’d quiver with the strain. His following exhale didn’t steady him like he’d hoped. "I want the energies out," he said. "More than I'm worried about the other thing."

"So we'll get the energies out," Steve said, like it was a simple choice that wouldn’t mean anything for the two of them. Bucky stood across from him, feeling like it was everything.

He didn’t say that, though. "And everything else...I don't know. I haven't exactly considered anything like that an option for a while."

It was a partial lie. There’d been some nights with Sam… in another life where Bucky wasn’t such a massive fuckup, maybe they would have been more. He wasn’t complaining about where the two of them stood now, though - and if Sam was upset about it, he hadn’t brought it up. And Bucky knew he wasn’t shy about bringing up the things that Bucky did that he was upset about. Repeatedly.

"Loki managed to change that," Steve said, a cautious tone to his voice.

"Like I said: he's convincing." Bucky sighed, feeling beyond drained. It seemed like the only thing he was better at than messing things up when people tried to help him was messing things up when he tried to help other people. "You should really forget I said anything." He shook his head, moving to the door, glad he hadn’t bothered to take off his shoes. "We’ll do it. You go first. If it works, we get these traces out of my arm and the rest of me. Nothing else matters.”

He heard Steve shift, too fast to be a simple movement to follow. A hand clamped tightly over the wood frame before Bucky could even turn the doorknob. Bucky froze, knowing the sound of that slam had to have been loud enough to be heard by the others in the living room.

He turned his eyes on Steve, found his lips tight and the lines of his face hardened, staring in - not in as much anger as earlier, exactly, but something along those lines.

That didn’t mean he’d be any less tenacious about chasing down whatever it was he wanted. He’d been ready for Bucky to try to run. Now he was ready for the fight.

Bucky would fight back, like he always did. He just didn’t know if this time he had it in him to try and win.

"Buck," Steve said, holding his gaze as firmly as he held the door. "What's the worst case scenario here?"

"Loki kills himself and you and blows a crater in the garden,” Bucky answered.

"What's the worst case scenario a step down from that," Steve asked dryly.

Bucky felt his mouth fall open, the words refusing to come again. He bit the inside of his lip until he tasted a flush of copper, looking away, to the green wall and the lines of paint Steve had laid out. He was so preoccupied with the feeling in his gut that he couldn’t even take any of it in.

Steve waited, standing close. Watching him.

Finally, like a jump from that cliff, Bucky murmured, "Loki gets under your skin like he did me."

He didn’t look Steve in the eye, but he knew the pain, jealousy and anger all had to be saturated on his face.

Well, he’d said he was sorry.

He heard as Steve’s hand slid down the door, dropping to his side. A deep sigh followed. "That didn't seem like it was such a bad time to me,” Steve said. “And I don't think it changed much for you."

Steve was at least right about that. It had awakened a part of Bucky he'd kept viciously suppressed for a very long time, but it hadn't specifically changed the way he felt about anyone else, including Steve. It had just...added another complication. In a growing list of complications, all of which involved Bucky pretty sure he wasn’t the person anyone should be focusing their attention on if they wanted things to go the right way.

He still felt some of that vice around his lungs loosen, however hesitantly.

Steve stepped closer, leaving barely a few inches of space between them. "You know there's no rule that says he and I have to be alone when it happens."

Bucky laughed, but it felt too bitter and wrong in his ears. He kept his head down. "Really don't think I should be there watching."

"And if I asked you to?"

Bucky looked up, startled. Steve's gaze was utterly serious. Meaningful. But he wasn’t frowning - instead his eyebrows were gently raised, the lines around them finally smoothed away.

He hadn’t been gearing up for a fight. He’d been trying to strengthen a connection.

The last of Bucky’s urge to run tipped over like water from a bucket. In its wake, he felt like an asshole and an idiot, having spent all his time trying to read and interpret what Loki wanted while just assuming he knew how things would develop from Steve’s end.

Because Steve had already left once.

But back then, even reunited with the girl of his dreams, he’d done everything he could to try and save Bucky. Like he’d always done.

Like he was still doing.

“Buck,” Steve chided. “I thought we agreed none of this was the end of the world.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, throat still too tight. He cleared it, blinking roughly through the sting in his eyes. “Sorry. Live through enough of those, you start expecting them.”

“We’ve only lived through so many because we keep beating them back,” Steve said.

“I know,” Bucky said. He pulled in air through his nose again, straining his lungs to their limit. This time when he exhaled, some of the anxiety left him. He still felt weak from the intensity of Steve’s continued devotion. “Okay,” he said, shrugging. “I’ll watch.”

Steve’s lips stretched into a brief smile, the relief that flashed in his eyes alongside it revealing that he hadn’t been as unbothered about the situation as he’d been letting on. He reached out with his empty hand, clapping it roughly against Bucky’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. Then he turned around again, moving back to his painting.

Bucky finally let himself really look at the wall, and the outline that had taken shape against the open space. He took a moment to feel amazed that Steve could work so damn fast, and with such precise movements. The talents of that little kid from Brooklyn amplified by the serum along with everything else.

Then his brow crinkled, familiarity from the image causing a stir in his brain. "Is that...?"

"Brooklyn," Steve said, answering Bucky’s unspoken question.

The picture took full form then - cables pulled tight over a bridge, the East River gently flowing around the columns. Buildings stretching to the sky on the other side. A memory from a lifetime ago, literally, and if the frame of that picture was cracked and rusted to shit the image held within was still crystal clear. Bucky could smell the salt in the air - the sharpness of low tide. He remembered that view. The sun on his face, the wind blowing free along the open space between burroughs.

Steve’s memory of it was probably a lot more recent.

"It's been forever since I've seen that bridge in person," Bucky said, eyes going over the shape of it.

He could hear the smile in Steve’s voice. "Well, maybe we can go visit after Loki's back on his feet."

Bucky let out another breath, this one a little shaky. He sat down on the bed, quietly watching Steve work. The worries were all still there, brewing under the surface of his mind, but their grip on him couldn’t stay so tight when Steve was right - it wasn’t the end of the world. Maybe he still couldn’t be as optimistic about what was going to happen in the future, or how he was even going to handle what was coming. But at least right then, it didn’t matter.

He felt his heart slow more and more the longer he watched the colors come from Steve’s hand, filling in the bridge, the reflections in the water beneath. Alongside it, the longing that had crested through all of his misgivings began to grow.

Eventually, he took off his boots, grabbed a fresh blue shirt and a pair of sweatpants from the closet and went into the bathroom to change. Steve was still working when he came back out. He glanced back at Bucky in his pajamas and paused.

“I can go if you need to get some sleep,” he offered.

“No,” Bucky said, throwing his other clothes in a hamper set in the corner. “I wanna see what it looks like when you’re done.” He watched as Steve dotted the skyline, then scowled. “Pretty sure there were never that many stars.”

“Just because we couldn’t see them didn’t mean they weren’t there,” Steve said, stubbornly adding in a few more.

Bucky realized a moment later that he was smiling. He let the expression fall away, and settled himself back on the bed. It was obvious Steve didn’t have to move slow and careful like he did with Loki’s mural, or put in much planning; he knew what this image was and what he wanted from it. His arms moved smoothly, swiftly, diligent and focused, independent of the stiffness in his back, muscles bunched up under the fabric of his thin shirt. He dipped down for more paint and then stretched out, making sure he filled in all the space where the wall met the ceiling.

And over the course of the next hour, as his body began to signal its readiness for sleep with growing intensity, Bucky had two realizations.

The first was that this was the first time since his trigger words had been removed in Wakanda that he’d ever even entertained the hope that maybe he could do more with his life than just stay in one place waiting for it all to get taken from him.

The second, sobering, as he settled back into his bed and closed his eyes, was that in just a few days’ time, Loki was going to have a goddamn field day with Steve Rogers.

Chapter Text

Rogers and Barnes seemed to have retreated - together - for the evening.

Loki pretended that he was more unconcerned with that than he actually was as Captain Wilson and Valkyrie continued their conversation around him. His mind, at least, lacked the feverish fervor about the situation as it once would have, even if he was frustrated that he would be unable to satisfy his curiosity until a future time.

He was also glad of the company that remained with him as a distraction from the fact that he was very much awake during a time of night that would have once sent him into a vicious, panicked spiral.

He had more of his magic back than he'd once thought possible. He would have been very disappointed if he were to lose it again so soon in an uncontrolled blast.

"Man," Captain Wilson was saying, as he stared at the wall in appreciation, leaning back against the couch cushions. "I knew Steve was interested in art from the history books. Kind of feels like we never had enough downtime for me to see this side of things."

Valkyrie hummed in agreement as she regarded the wall herself while starting the process of unbraiding her long hair. "I'd half consider commissioning him for a project in New Asgard."

"He's not your personal painter," Loki said, half his attention remaining on the hall as he tried to listen for even the smallest sound that would drift towards him.

"You're making a lot of assumptions," Valkyrie said, carefully threading her fingers through to smooth out her locks as they were released. "It’s not like it’d be a business proposal. Just an exchange. Between friends.” She glanced at Loki. “The way he could make you look that good even while you were dead asleep in the dirt..."

Loki rolled his eyes, even if he had himself noticed the kindness applied to his appearance in Rogers’s sketchbook. “Your compliments continue to astound.”

"I don't think it's just about the hobby for Steve," Captain Wilson said, settling his arms along the back of the couch.

Loki quietly agreed, staring deeply into the glow of the wall. Worlds apart from the bleakness he had suffered during his fall. "His desire to make a difference in the lives of others stimulates his creativity."

"He could make a difference in my life," Valkyrie said, throwing her loosened hair back over her shoulder. "Though I'd probably ask for something with a little more nudity."

Loki glared at her, with about as much effectiveness as all of the previous glares he’d sent her way over the last few hours.

Captain Wilson snorted softly. "Might be a little more out of luck in that department. But who knows? Like I said, this is a different side of Steve than what I'm used to."

"It’s definitely not quite what I expected considering our first meeting," Valkyrie said.

Loki looked at her sharply. "First meeting?"

"More like the first time I saw him,” she said, lowering her gaze to study her hands in her lap. “He’d been alone. Had the absolute shit kicked out of him. He was still ready to take on the entirety of Thanos's army."

The thought was astonishing. Loki, who had not been able to contend with even just Thanos himself, could barely imagine standing alone against both him and the full might of his fleet. There would have been no victory.

"That's madness," Loki said, having all but abandoned his attempt to hear what was happening in the room down the hall. "What happened? Obviously he survived such insurmountable odds.”

Captain Wilson smiled. "I came flying out of a wizard's portal. With a few thousand Avengers. It was pretty amazing."

"And nearly the entire population of New Asgard," Valkyrie said, her eyes bright as they came back up. "We celebrated our victory for weeks on end."

Loki could imagine. He’d been a part of those celebrations, once.

He belatedly noted that Valkyrie had was looking him up and down, her face set with contemplation.

“What?” he asked, stiffening.

She pressed her lips into a thin line, then seemed to come to some sort of conclusion. "You're allowed back," she said. “You can come to New Asgard any time you're ready.”

"Can I?" Loki asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. "I thought you didn't care where I ended up."

"I don't," she said. "But you are a part of the reason we even had so many of our people left to settle there. Twice over."

"Whoa, whoa," Captain Wilson said, bringing his hands out in front of him for emphasis. He dropped them and leaned forward in interest. "We've spent the entire day sharing the things that we're proud of, and you've been holding back?"

“I’ve described it once already,” Loki said.

“Nah, see, you gave us the cliff notes,” Captain Wilson said. “What else was there? Come on. It doesn’t hurt to celebrate that you did a good thing.”

Loki thought again of metal crushing his neck; an insurmountable strength lifting him from the ground. A nightmare that had grown distant but remained ever watchful, ready to remind him. An ending that his actions over years, his numerous failings, had brought to fruition.

He turned his eyes to the wall, staring into the colors of the painted forest. He let them linger long on the sun displayed at the center. “I’m afraid my taste for pride has dimmed.”

"So I'll tell it for him," Valkyrie said decisively. "It started with a spectacularly awful showing where he tried to side with a sadistic tyrant, kill me, enslave his brother, and doom Banner to a life trapped in a gladiatorial ring."

Loki did not deny her words. He clenched his hands upon his thighs, keeping his eyes upon the wall.

Valkyrie went on. "But then…he changed his mind. He did the right thing. A lot faster than some of us.” Loki turned to her, finally, and saw an old pain in her eyes as she looked back, her brow drawn into sadness. "He destroyed his home Realm so that our people could escape without being slaughtered by his father’s first born. When Thanos attacked us in space right after that, he again took up arms to keep safe what remained of Asgard.” She maintained eye contact, as if by that alone she could intensify the effect of her words. “He could have escaped at any time. But instead, he let Thanos kill him. Almost kill him."

Captain Wilson had gone quiet, his arms folded as he listened to the story. He looked at Loki. “That right?”

Loki swallowed. Reluctantly, he nodded.

Captain Wilson shifted back, settling himself down again. "Sounds like you're not that different from us after all. What you did was important. I’m glad you were able to make it here after everything, and I’m sorry you had to go through that fall.”

"What I did," Loki said, feeling a stirring of something hot and shameful inside of him. "You mean surrendering a crucial item to a madman to help further his plans of mass galactic extinction and grant him one of the greatest weapons one could ever have use of to face any and all people that would oppose him?"

"Was that the end goal you wanted?" Captain Wilson asked, far too flippantly for the severity of the subject matter.

"I..." Loki felt that thread of his past motivations flicker like a dimming light. Remembered Thor’s screams and the Tesseract in his hand and his struggle for air. “It does not matter. It was the end result.”

“Okay, now you’re sounding a lot like someone else in this house,” Captain Wilson said.

Loki swallowed, his curiosity of who and why dulled by his emotions and the memories threatening to drag him down. He turned to the painting again, breathing out as he focused upon it, clenching his hands together to still the light tremble that threaded their length.

“Loki,” Captain Wilson said, drawing his attention. “I know we’ve mentioned it a thousand times. We’ll mention it a thousand more times.” He gestured towards the windows. “Your brother’s out there and alive.”

Loki found his eyes going to the windows as the relief of the words and the ache of Thor’s continued absence battled for supremacy. His heart sped at the sight of the long darkness outside, but that concern was secondary.

“But we should probably add another few words into that phrasing,” Captain Wilson said. “Your brother’s out there and alive because of you.”

Loki felt the truth of those words and the belief behind them. He continued to stare out the windows and wondered when it was that he had gained the ability to accept such statements at face value.

There was no physical proof of Thor’s continuation. And though he could almost stomach the sight of it, Loki knew better than to think traveling in the dark to search for his brother himself was even a distant option. Besides his frail mind, any number of enemies could easily break him. Again. As if any more was needed.

And Loki also knew, if he allowed himself to continue down those paths, he could easily even convince himself of the fact that there was no proof his entire experience since arriving at the house was not just the vision of said broken mind long gone fully mad, going so far as to fabricate new Avengers he had never met before to make the experience that much more realistic. Welcoming.

But he did not allow himself to continue down that path. So he found that more real in that moment was the tightening of his throat and the sting at his eyes at Captain Wilson’s words - the way he felt urged to bow his head, staggered by a simple phrase.

"Hey," Valkyrie said.

He turned and looked at her, still feeling so overcome that he could barely focus.

"You're allowed back," she repeated, eyebrows raised. Her hand reached out, resting softly upon his knee. “If you decide you want it.”

He exhaled heavily, trying to regain control of himself. "Thank you."

She nodded, taking her hand back. “I’m going to head outside for a minute,” she said, grimacing. “Sort of forgot to tell someone that we’re staying.”

“Someone?” Captain Wilson asked in confusion.

“She did not come alone,” Loki said.

Captain Wilson’s mouth rounded in realization. “Someone is your horse with the huge wings? I mean, if you ask me, the understanding of a language is sort of a tier down from opening portals on the mystical scale.”

“Actually, it’s sixteen languages,” Valkyrie corrected, grinning when Captain Wilson swore in stunned respect. “He loves a good conversation. Think you can handle Loki alone?"

“What schemes will I produce with my nefarious new ability to sit upright without fatiguing in ten minutes,” Loki deadpanned, carefully shifting on his cushion for emphasis. “Go and talk to your horse.”

Valkyrie pushed herself up, hooking her hands together overhead for a long stretch, then headed out the door.

Silence fell. Loki considered his own still-swirling emotions, the depths of both pain and gratitude that seemed neverending. His heartbeat remained too fast in his breast. But he also marveled at the fact that he was able to consider them instead of mindlessly reacting to every stimulus.

And then he heard a mighty slam echo from down the hall, and immediately felt as if all of his panic had returned in one fell swoop.

It took a moment for his mind to catch up to his senses. Once it did, he turned to stare down towards Barnes’s bedroom, eyes wide. Dimly, he was aware that Captain Wilson had also tensed upon the couch, half ready to stand.

Loki could hear speaking coming from down the hall, now. But the occupants of the room, as they likely had been before the noise, were keeping their voices lowered. Intentionally, he surmised.

There was no shouting, or further slamming noises. Loki willed his limbs to relax and his breathing to slow.

“It was probably an accident,” Captain Wilson said, slumping back upon the couch. Loki extremely doubted it. “But speaking of - I couldn’t help but notice those two were even weirder around each other than normal at dinner.”

“Something changed,” Loki agreed, managing to tear his eyes away from the hall.

“I talked with Steve this morning while you were in the bath,” Captain Wilson said, gesturing towards the bathroom. “Told him he could stand to open up a little. Maybe he finally did.”

Loki huffed out a breath, the conversation engaging him enough to shake free more of his anxiety. “I did the same to Barnes. While I was in the bath.”

“Really?” Captain Wilson shook his head, looking pleased. “Sounds like we couldn’t have timed that better.”

“No.” Loki cocked his head again, taking another moment to listen for voices. The bedroom had gone completely silent. “Now we need only see if it brings them closer together or farther apart.”

“I’d be incredibly disappointed if one conversation was all it took to put an irreversible divide between those two after everything,” Captain Wilson said. “Whatever it is, I only saw good things.”

Loki frowned, turning his attention back. “They barely spoke to one another.”

“There’s definitely friction,” Captain Wilson said. “Feel like there’s always gonna be some of that where those two are involved. But if they’re actually working on their relationship and brought up any of the things that were bothering them, I wouldn’t expect it to be easy. They’ve both got a lot to unpack.”

Loki took in that information with quiet assessment. Captain Wilson was privy to what he wasn’t. How much was questionable, but he knew enough that he’d swayed Rogers in divulging something.

Perhaps it was time Loki paid more attention to this third variable in the household before Captain Wilson took his leave.

He loosened himself, trying to rid himself of the last of the instinctive defensive tension. “You were not an Avenger during my invasion.”

“No,” Captain Wilson said with a shake of his head. “I met Steve and Bucky a couple years after that.”

“They were together then?”

Captain Wilson pressed his lips together. “You don’t know.”

“What?”

He jerked his chin to indicate the hallway. “Did you ask them about any of this?”

“Barnes,” Loki reluctantly admitted.

“He didn’t want to tell you, did he? Look, it’s not really my place to air all that out.”

“And what of you?" Loki asked, determined to follow this thread. "When we first met, I asked what you wanted. You said it was mostly to make dinner.”

“Anything I’ve done up until now proved that wrong?” Captain Wilson shrugged, but Loki saw something in the lines of his body - a signal, emphasized by the growing defensive tone in his words. “Keeping an eye on my friends is kind of my thing.”

“It must be quite a deep friendship,” Loki prodded.

Captain Wilson frowned at the words; despite seeming to mostly trust Loki, he was clearly no fool. “You getting at something?”

Loki was willing to risk it. “You tried to bring them closer together. At the expense of your own desire.”

Captain Wilson’s expression shuttered. “You really want to dig into this? You already know we’re not tossing your ass to the curb. Getting every little secret out of us isn’t going to happen. It doesn’t need to.”

“It was simply an observation,” Loki said, sitting back, instinctively presenting less of a challenge. “I did not mean to offend.”

There was a stiffness to the Captain for a while longer - for a moment Loki wondered if he had pressed too hard on too sore a spot. But then that tense form calmed with a rueful sigh. Captain Wilson shook his head as he rubbed at his shoulder - the tension he’d displayed must have reignited the soreness there. “That obvious, huh?”

Loki let his silence give the answer, wary of angering Captain Wilson again. Not because he feared it, but because he found he did not want to drive the man away.

And his attention was focused on that shoulder now, and the injury he had previously noted and the Captain had dismissed. It was a small hurt, as Captain Wilson had said, that did not do more than mildly impede his ability to function. But it had not yet receded.

And Loki would not overlook the fact that this new Captain America had done much for him in his stay here, despite his brief visits. He flexed his hands, considering.

"It is possible I may be able to do more than simply sit up for ten seconds," Loki admitted.

“That’s great,” Captain Wilson said, eyeing his own arm like he was disappointed in it.

"Your shoulder,” Loki began.

“I'm all right, like I told you. Couple of weeks it'll be good as new."

Stubbornness. Perhaps a warning around that.

Loki breathed in, out. Considered the conversations they'd had in the past. The things that Captain Wilson admired.

But also, he considered what he himself wanted.

"It would be a favor to me," Loki said, changing tactics. "There is something I aim to do to help Barnes. It may require a vast amount of strength.”

“Hold, on - help Bucky?” Now Captain Wilson seemed doubly concerned. “Help Bucky with what?”

Right. Because Barnes would have carried his secrets to his grave if left to his own devices. Loki considered his answer, and chose Captain Wilson’s own response from earlier. “If you do not know, it is not my place to air it out.”

Captain Wilson exhaled through flared nostrils, slumping back in frustration. “Yeah, okay, all right.” He shook his head, snapping his fingers. “I knew there was something going on.”

“Rogers has offered a simpler version of the undertaking so that I might assess my capabilities and grow stronger,” Loki explained. He threaded his hands together. “But there may be another, even simpler step before that."

"If you’re still talking about my shoulder, it’s not necessary," Captain Wilson said, unwaveringly firm. "I’m sure you know what to focus on with those two."

"I know what to focus on," Loki confirmed. "But what I aim to do with Rogers and Barnes will involve a variable in which I am extremely inexperienced."

"Yeah? What kind of variable are we talking about here?"

"The ability to heal," Loki said.

Captain Wilson regarded him for a long moment, expression stoney. But Loki could see the loosening of his shoulders, hear the slowing to the cadence of his voice when he responded. "And you wanna practice on me."

"To explore the area where my weakness lies," Loki said. “I had very little interest in pursuing such avenues when I was younger.” He spread his hands. “As I said, it would be a favor.”

Captain Wilson's eyes softened. "Okay," he said, standing from the couch. "Let's get you some magical cardio to go along with that strength training."

Loki frowned as he was approached. "What?"

"It's a metaphor. You know, how working at least a little on the other thing helps whichever one you’re focused on.” Off Loki’s bewildered expression, he waved his hand. “Look, don’t worry about the specifics. How do you want to do this?"

His goal all but obtained, Loki sat straighter, beckoning to the cushions beside him. "You simply need to sit within reach and be still. I will do the rest."

Captain Wilson did not show the wary hesitance of Barnes nor the effusive agreeableness of Rogers, but somewhere between the two - though more towards Rogers on the spectrum. He stepped over to the cushions, gazing down at them as he thought about his positioning for a moment before somewhat awkwardly lowering himself down, pulling his legs up for balance as he angled his injured shoulder close. "Like this?"

"That is perfect, thank you.” Loki stared at the broad shoulders directed his way as yet more of the tension left them at his praise. "This will require contact,” he warned.

"I figured," Captain Wilson said, maintaining his relaxed posture.

Loki still hesitated before continuing his instructions. "Preferably with no clothing as an obstacle."

Captain Wilson huffed, but pulled off his shirt in the next moment, still calmly confident. "I guess it's a good thing I didn't bruise a glute," he joked. "This would have gotten real weird, real fast."

Loki carefully looked over Captain Wilson's back, and saw the discomfort of age and a showing of mortality that had not been provided by the enhancements so clearly present in Rogers and Barnes. The way he held himself, Loki wondered how much of his physical weakness he strove to keep hidden.

He had not personally seen Captain Wilson in action. But whatever he did, to manage to be even half as physically capable as an Avenger, must have required a tremendous amount of effort and dedication. And he could not simply shake off the damage quickly when it came.

Such a fact had Loki wondering for a moment if this was going to be a foolhardy endeavor. He did not know, of course, if he would be successful at even this. And if he was not, it would make him doubly unsure when it came to Rogers and Barnes.

But there was simply nothing for it. Loki would not know just as much if he never even made an attempt. And he wanted to know - and wanted so much more beyond that.

And he knew at least, even without his magic performing to its full capability, there was still a chance he could do something.

He set his hands upon Captain Wilson, just adjacent to the injury. He found the skin beneath his hands was cooler than either Barnes or Rogers, who both ran hot like furnaces. There also seemed to be a similar amount of muscle, but instead of the density the other two carried, there was much more of a softness to that mass.

It was…not unpleasant. But Loki would need to mind how he proceeded. If he miscalculated badly enough to cause Captain Wilson's symptoms to worsen, or even injure him...

He breathed deeply. Closed his eyes, and began to feel. Despite Captain Wilson’s friendly nature there remained tension in the muscles directly alongside the injury. He might not even have been aware of it. Or, as Thor had been wont to do, he was perfectly aware of it but pretending so viciously he was fooling himself and no one else.

Those particular muscles were not Loki’s main focus, but he thought perhaps it would be less risky to start the process there. A practice for a practice for a practice.

He nearly smiled bitterly at the thought. It seemed he had no shortage of hesitations lingering in his mind. They would not serve him here.

He pressed his fingers into the cluster of muscles, and focused his thoughts even as something in his throat tightened at the feel of skin beneath his hands. A body breathing, soft, alive. He applied pressure, increment by increment, until he found the amount that passed from help into hurt, and quickly withdrew just as Captain Wilson hissed.

He was not questioned, and so he gave no assurances as he simply took the intensity down, back to that spot that would release the pain without igniting it. And then, he tried to carefully dispense his magic into the underlying tissues with the same precise pressure.

It was difficult. Almost too difficult. The amount of concentration required to allow just enough of his magic to interweave in just the right way, for as long as it needed, when he did not even know how much effort would be required for his ultimate end...

You spent five years struggling in space, he scolded himself. This is no hardship. You can manage five minutes. You could manage five hours. What the Captain has given you should have well prepared you for this.

The muscles were soon imbued with magic - such a small amount, but Loki felt the fatigue as it left him all the same, to be used by the body of another. And within that body he gently allowed the energy to coalesce, change, and bond with the strained muscles and less with himself.

Captain Wilson shuddered against his hands, releasing another sharp breath - this one far from pained. “Whoa,” he said wonderingly.

Loki would take that as a good sign. He felt his efforts become less strained as his faith in them began to return. He moved on to the other areas, the spots beside the main injury - his hand gripping into Captain Wilson’s bicep, feeling the muscle flex beneath his hand.

“Sorry,” Captain Wilson said. “Shouldn’t have moved. You’re uh, really good at that, whatever it is.”

“My request not to move was more related to the distance needed to reach you,” Loki said, feeling like he could at least speak now without losing his concentration. But he kept his eyes closed.

“Cool,” Captain Wilson answered, and flexed again with a gasp as Loki sent his magic into more tender muscle. “Who needs health insurance when you’ve got wizard friends?”

Loki found his mind viewing one descriptor with distaste while the second one gave him pause. “I am not a wizard,” Loki said.

“Oh, don’t you give me this argument, too,” Captain Wilson bit out, then went silent as Loki moved up to the main injury. “Notice you didn’t correct the other thing.”

“No,” Loki said, readying himself.

“Good,” Captain Wilson said, and then his breaths went stilted as Loki pushed.

The body before him arched, the affected shoulder pressing back towards his touch. Loki ground his teeth as his own body responded, nearly losing his hold, his mind, forcefully reigning in his efforts and suffusing the damaged muscle until it was just flush enough with power - his magic feeding the cells and allowing them to mend, multiply, strengthen. Heal the body that housed them, the body that pushed against him, that ignited his skin and thoughts and caused all of the air to leave his lungs until-

He was done.

Loki slumped with a grunt, removing his hands at last, his limbs violently shaking as if he had performed a feat of excessive physicality for days on end. Instead of fighting the feeling he took full advantage of the cushions beneath him, collapsing onto his back, breathing in heaving gasps as he waited for the sting to lessen. He was vaguely aware of Captain Wilson’s breaths as he panted next to him.

Once he was certain he had calmed enough that he could withstand extra stimulation without losing more of his focus, Loki opened his eyes.

He was met by the sight of the mural first and foremost, an upside-down view of the grandiose forest and its colorfully painted inhabitants, emblazoning light back into his eyes. When he turned his gaze to the side, he found Captain Wilson still sitting beside him, rolling his shoulder, staring forward in shock, his arm raised wonderingly.

“Damn,” he said.

“Damn,” Valkyrie repeated.

Loki turned sharply with a jolt and found her sitting on the couch, her hands on her thighs and eyes locked onto the both of them. One look at her expression and he knew with a sinking heart that she’d seen most of what he’d done.

“Damn,” Loki weakly echoed, shutting his eyes again in regret. “I may have briefly forgotten that you existed.”

“He healed my shoulder,” Captain Wilson said, and Loki was glad of his presence to provide details she would more readily believe.

“How kind of him,” Valkyrie said, a gleam in her eyes when Loki again looked at her. She crossed one leg over the other. “Is that what you’re planning on doing with the other two?”

Loki felt as if sinking through the floor would be preferable to answering.

“He says it’s gonna be harder,” Captain Wilson said.

“Which means it will take more time,” Valkyrie said. “To deal with all of that…hardness.”

If Loki had his strength he would have very likely made a game attempt at stabbing her. “If I can do it at all,” he said, astonished that he managed to make words instead of a series of choked noises.

“And if you fail,” Valkyrie said, “you’ll just have to try again and again. I’m sure that will be very disappointing.” The odd gleam in her eyes was growing stronger. “I have just one question.”

“What,” Loki asked, already dreading it.

“Can I watch?”

He jerked, but found he could not quite sit up all the way just yet. Conceding to his lack of strength, he settled back into the cushions, frustrated with the thready beat of his heart. “No,” he ground out.

She laughed. “Okay, if you’re going to be that possessive about it.” She stood from the couch. “Didn’t quite finish my conversation,” she said as she headed to the door. “We thought something had gone wrong when we heard the moaning and saw all that green light.”

Oh, and the horse was aware of it, too. Tremendous.

“Nothing wrong,” Captain Wilson said. “Just Loki’s fingers working their magic.”

She laughed again.

Loki put his arm over his eyes for an additional barrier. He heard the door open and close a moment later.

Captain Wilson shifted at his side, delivering a light slap to Loki’s thigh that jolted another sensation through his body that he was by far not ready to withstand.

“Man, you cannot keep it together,” Captain Wilson said teasingly. “Come on. That was amazing.”

There was a euphoria in his voice, as if all of the gained energy Loki had recovered now existed inside of him.

And it did, Loki supposed. Well, at least he was not languishing upon the cushions again for nothing.

Slowly, he removed his arm and opened his eyes. Captain Wilson was smiling widely, replacing his shirt, moving a lot more freely now that one of his limbs was not constantly punishing him for it. “I’m telling you, if that was the thing you think you struggle with, you’ve got the next step in the bag.” He turned to Loki and held out his hand.

Hesitantly, Loki took it. Felt the callused fingers close over his, as Captain Wilson emphatically shook where their limbs met.

“Thanks,” Captain Wilson said. “Definitely owe you one.”

Loki swallowed; his fingers and palm tingled as they were released. “No need,” he said, still quite out of breath, his body feeling more and more leaden by the second, sinking into the comfortable cushions beneath. “You have already given me so much.”

“I cooked some food, yeah, but that was…” Captain Wilson breathed out, shaking his head as if he could not find the words. “Look, I didn’t need any more proof that you’re on our side. But if anyone on Earth finds out about you and tries to give you trouble, send a message my way. I’ll go to bat.” He jerked his head to indicate down the hallway. “Kind of got experience with lawbreakers.”

Loki…did not see how anything Rogers and Barnes had done could be considered even mildly equivalent to the invasive practices he’d engaged in on Earth.

But neither could he find a reason for Captain Wilson to go out of his way to lie to him.

And he found…the promise that he might see the man again after his future departure was not a disagreeable one.

“Thank you,” he said, his eyes beginning to flutter, pulled down as strongly as the rest of him.

“Hey, hey, you gonna pass out again? You look like you’re about to pass out. Hey, Loki!”

Loki did not get the chance to answer Captain Wilson’s question, for he had passed out.

Chapter Text

Steve woke up to the savory smells of an active kitchen.

He’d left Bucky’s room late the night before, quietly turning off the light beforehand, letting the dim shine of replicated stars fill the room, gentle lines lighting up over the bridge and river. Bucky had been asleep, vibranium arm resting over his chest, rising and falling with his slow and steady breaths. The faintest of glows had reflected along the section of forearm that faced the wall. He hadn’t stirred as Steve opened the door, slipping out and shutting it softly behind him.

Before he’d gotten to the guest quarters, he’d checked the living room for the other occupants of the house and found Sam asleep on the couch, with Valkyrie and Loki side by side on the cushions on the floor. The stronger coatings of paint on the wall beside them had fallen on the three of them like moonlight.

He hadn’t checked the time before falling into bed himself, but he woke up to the yellow-oranges of sunlight reaching through the window, feeling relaxed and loose, like the rest he had managed to get was some of the most fulfilling he’d had in a very long time.

And he was plenty hungry come the morning; whatever was being prepared for breakfast felt like it was reaching under the guest room door to specifically place its scent in his nostrils. He showered and shaved, then dressed in a simple white t-shirt and jeans before venturing out into the rest of the house.

He checked down the hall at Bucky’s room and saw the door was open. He wandered over and peaked inside - the completed image of the Brooklyn Bridge was a visible and striking change from the plain green wall that had been there before. Bucky had seemed to like it while it was in progress; Steve hoped he’d found the end result just as good in the light of day.

Loki was still asleep in the living room, with Valkyrie upright and awake, sitting cross-legged beside him on a not insignificant amount of the cushions that had once made up Loki’s bed. Her eyes were closed, her hair freshly pulled up on top of her head, and there was a long blade Steve hadn’t seen before balanced over her knees. Sunlight streamed in the east-facing window and cast along the floors closest to the wall, with the promise of more to fill the room as the sun rose higher in the sky.

Sam was in the kitchen working over the stove, dressed in long blue shorts and a grey tank top, a half-empty glass of juice and a batch of cooling scones on the counter next to him. He looked over his shoulder at Steve as he approached. “Good morning,” he greeted, turning back to some red onions sizzling in a pan. "Bucky's outside if you need him. Came out of his room a little while ago. Stared at everyone over his coffee for about ten minutes then grumbled something about being behind on his greenhouse."

"He’s had one or two distractions," Steve said, grabbing a large mug from the cupboard. It had a silhouette of a green water pail on the side beneath the words So Excited I Wet My Plants. He grabbed the still-warm pot and poured himself a generous helping.

Sam side-eyed him, enough of a smirk on his face that Steve made a guess on who the exact purchaser of the mug had been. "Does caffeine even work on you guys?"

"No,” Steve said, taking a sip - Sam had definitely been the one to brew that morning’s batch. Coffee-making skills weren’t exactly things he and Bucky had ever tried to fine-tune. "But it still tastes good."

Sam huffed out a laugh. "I guess that makes you more of a purist than me. You don't even get anything out of it besides the taste." He stirred the onions, watching them bubble. "So, we should probably come up with a game plan."

Steve frowned, setting the mug down. "Game plan for what?"

"For whatever the hell it is Loki's gonna do when he helps you guys,” Sam said, turning to look at him. Steve blinked in surprise. “He didn't say much to me about it, but he hinted that he was worried it was going to be intense." Sam rolled his shoulder in indication, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Got a sneak preview. He used magic on my injury. That's why he's still in dreamland."

Steve looked over at the pair in the living room, a deep appreciation filling him, along with a considerable amount of curiosity.

Seemed like everyone was getting a taste of what Loki could do before he was.

Sam took the sizzling pan off the stove, emptied the caramelized onions into a bowl, then grabbed a carton of eggs. "That was an experience and a half, let me tell you. But it took a lot out of him. Figure we should do everything we can to make sure he's at the top of his game.” He cracked the shells open with precise movements, dropping the insides into the pan before he reached for the seasonings. “I can handle the nutrients if you want to make sure he keeps getting that physical therapy in. Val's willing to hang out here and take him on little field trips outside. And Bucky..." Sam sighed. "I’m just glad he’s accepting help. You know he doesn’t trust a lot of people with that kind of stuff.”

“Yeah, I might have gotten a hint or two,” Steve said, leaning his elbow on the counter. He was deeply glad that it seemed like they were past that.

Sam gave him a look as he gathered the leftover eggshells and dropped them in a stainless steel bucket sitting on the counter. “Things get a little heated last night?”

Steve grimaced, remembering his and Bucky’s argument. “We talked it out,” he said.

Sam made a short noise of approval, picking up a spatula to flip the eggs. “Good. Didn’t want any of that drama ruining my amazing breakfast.”

Steve looked over the prep work laid out. “What’s on the menu?”

“Breakfast sandwiches,” Sam said. “Pro move to use savory scones for the bread.” He pointed to a bowl near the sink. “You wanna help, cut up those avocados."

Loki woke up not long after breakfast was done cooking, pulling himself up into a sitting position on his own; he seemed groggy but calm when Steve walked over, smoothing a hand over his hair, which was sticking up messily around its tie.

“His stomach woke up before he did,” Valkyrie commented, her eyes still closed. “Could hear it growling for the last twenty minutes.”

“Oh, you’re still here,” Loki said, eyeing her hoard of cushions. “I’m so pleased you’ve made yourself at home.”

“Come on,” Steve said to Loki, holding his hand out in offering. “I hope you’re ready.”

Loki frowned, but reached out and grasped at Steve’s wrist with a tightening strength. He hauled himself up with a grunt, wobbling a little before he steadied himself with gritted teeth. “Ready for what?”

Sam’s voice called out from the kitchen. “The best damn self-care plan anyone could hope for.”

Loki’s lips parted at the words, and he looked a little overwhelmed, almost nervous. But then his stomach rumbled loudly at Steve’s side, and Valkyrie snorted so loudly in response that Loki shut his eyes.

“Come on,” Steve urged again, his hand settling against Loki’s side to help brace him. Now he was even more aware of the tension that flowed through Loki at that added touch, how he twitched and clamped his eyes tighter. He also saw the way that Loki tried to quickly mask it. “Change of clothes is already in the bathroom for you.”

Sam called out the door for Bucky as Steve helped set the table, but Bucky didn’t come back inside until the rest of them were already about halfway through breakfast. He was dressed in a jacket and jeans despite the fact Steve could already tell it was going to be another warm day. When he came up to his seat, he took one look at the way Loki was eating - slowly, blissfully, with his eyes clamped shut - and only took one of the three portions Sam had made up for him, shoving the plate forward and walking away.

“Seriously?” Sam said as Bucky crossed the living room back to the front door. “You’re gonna diss my sconewiches?”

“I’m not that hungry,” Bucky said, back outside before Sam could respond.

Steve frowned, then looked at Bucky’s plate, now a few inches farther into the table, directly across from Loki.

“That was a straight up lie that he’s going to regret in about ten minutes,” Sam said, huffily settling back. He glanced at the abandoned plate, then Loki, the annoyance fading. “Guess that means the rest are all yours.”

Again, that overwhelmed look crossed Loki’s face, until Valkyrie elbowed him in the side. “Should get you outside soon,” she said, either ignoring or not noticing the way Loki seized up at the contact. “Early sun will be better to avoid another scolding.”

Loki seemed to refocus with effort, chewing and swallowing his current mouthful. “Agreed,” he murmured, then reached for the plate Bucky had sacrificed.

Steve stayed inside with Sam after, helping clean up the house and doing a few more finishing touches on his paintings before he went outside to relieve Valkyrie and brought Loki back inside for some late morning exercises. He hadn’t seen Bucky around when he looked around the garden, but he tried not to worry about that. Getting Loki in as good of shape as possible was their priority now.

And Steve was more aware than ever how Loki leaned into him when he offered support. Privately, he told himself the reason for it was just one more thing that was helping Loki come out of the nightmare he’d been stuck in.

It definitely wasn’t hurting; Loki damn near made it through half a dozen hard-fought circuits around the living room before he’d all but collapsed onto the couch, his limbs shaking in fatigue.

"Not exactly a Rocky montage," Sam had murmured to Steve, handing him the smoothie he’d just whipped up.

"Not yet it isn’t," Steve said. To his surprise, Loki shook his head when offered the drink.

“I am not done yet,” he asserted, then swallowed and tried to limit himself to intakes of breath through his nostrils. “Steve,” he said. “Please help me stand.”

Sam took the smoothie back so Steve could have his hands free. Loki lifted himself back up from the couch, sucking in a sharp breath. He started moving almost immediately, eyes locked onto the end goal of the mural.

Sam folded his arms. “So I get the admission of friendship, but he’s the one you’re gonna go on a first name basis with, huh?”

Steve smiled in amusement. Loki froze and peered at Sam as if he’d just said something startling.

“That means feel free to call me Sam, in case that wasn’t clear,” Sam said. “But also, I won’t mind if you sprinkle in the Captain here and there. Though that kind of goes for everyone.” That last part was said with a cheeky smile and a pointed look at Steve.

“Shield’s really going to your head,” Steve commented.

“Hey, that’s better than the existential crisis it gave me after you just dropped it in my lap and disappeared,” Sam said, raising his hands as Steve felt a flush of guilt change his expression. “Sorry, I couldn't help it. It’s good. Now. Just had to figure a few things out.”

“I don’t think that part ever really stops,” Steve carefully admitted. “But you know I only chose you because I knew you were right for it.”

Sam sighed deeply, giving a sharp nod. “Thank you.”

“Sam,” Loki finally said, like he was testing it out. He took another step.

Sam grinned. “There you go,” he said, then looked up as Valkyrie re-entered the house. “And what about her?”

“What about me what?” she asked, looking between them.

“We’re trying to get Loki on a first name basis with everyone,” Steve said, turning to walk backwards so he could face her and Sam while he casually loosened his support in the process.

“As a measure of social closeness,” Loki said, then determinedly walked the next few steps, teeth bared as he fought to support his own weight.

“I chose my name,” Valkyrie said, shrugging. “The one I had at birth doesn’t serve me anymore. So, Valkyrie it is.” She looked towards Sam. “Or Val. It’s growing on me.”

“No King, huh?” Sam asked.

She laughed. “Going around to other people’s houses and announcing my reign? Sounds more like old Asgard.”

“I see,” Loki said, voice getting progressively more strained with every step. “You prefer to restrict yourself to breaking into houses without permission.”

“Almost there,” Steve said, wanting Loki to focus on what he was doing.

“Yes, I can in fact see the wall,” Loki snapped.

“And you’re talking,” Steve pointed out. “Which means you can work harder.”

Loki flared his nostrils in anger but focused on his movements. When he got to the wall he stretched his arms out to catch himself without Steve’s help, palms against the mural, his head lowered as he panted. He turned around less than a minute later, his eyes moving to the window directly across the living room.

Steve nodded. “Go.”

When Loki was done, Loki was done. He barely made it back to the cushions, lowered down by Steve’s grip on his forearm, rolling onto his back as soon as he was released. Sam put the smoothie down next to him on the floor, but he didn’t give even a slight reaction to it.

“He’s all right,” Sam said. “Give him a few minutes to get his heart rate back down. I’ll go and see if I can drag Bucky back in from his DIY.”

“I’ll come with,” Valkyrie said. “I’ve been meaning to give my horse a ride.”

Loki reached up and pulled his hair out of its tie, letting his curls hang wildly around his face. Then he reached for the smoothie, desperately gulping half of it down. He released a small gasp when he finally let himself pull back, refilling his lungs.

“The day after tomorrow,” he said, shoulders hunched in exhaustion beneath the clinging fabric of his shirt, hands trembling. “We can make the first attempt just before sunset.”

The specific wording of that made Steve hesitate. "You sure you don't want it earlier in the day?"

Loki took another series of hearty swallows before he answered. "The time frame will...encourage me to act efficiently."

"Okay," Steve agreed. "I'll let Bucky know." Off Loki's startled look, Steve said. "I kind of asked him to be there."

"You..." Loki's eyes narrowed, his fingers clutching tighter at the bottle. "And he agreed?"

"He did," Steve said. "That going to be a problem?"

"No," Loki said guardedly. "I had planned to ask him myself."

"Oh," Steve said. "He's going to be there. Were you thinking you could do us both in one session?"

Loki's entire face spasmed, then dipped down. "I..." He sighed deeply. "The remnant in your bodies are most active when you are in contact." He raised his head again and looked Steve dead in the eye. "So for this to have the best chance of success, I will need him to touch you. Before I touch you.” He took the last sip of his smoothie, staring at the emptied container like just looking at it could summon more. “Before you touch him, so I can draw the power out. How long that process will take… I couldn’t say.”

“Let’s just plan for the first part,” Steve said, ignoring the tingling feeling low in his gut. “If we have to wait an extra night or two, that’s all right.”

Footsteps crunched up to the front of the house before creaking against the wooden porch. The door opened and Bucky stepped inside, warm summer air flowing in behind him, a package in his hands large enough to cover about half of his torso. He glanced at Loki on the floor and Steve standing beside him.

"Time for another bath?" Loki asked, somewhat hopefully.

Bucky let his eyes go to Steve again, then looked away quickly. "We're just getting you clean," he said, a little sharply. “Sam told me about your workout. You can do most of it yourself.”

Loki blanked his face. “Of course,” he said, crisply polite.

“Mail?” Steve asked, indicating the package in Bucky’s hands.

“These are the clothes he ordered,” Bucky said.

“I’ll take those,” Sam said, reaching around behind Bucky and plucking the package away. “You work on him. I’ll get a load started.”

Bucky looked up at Steve one last time before he headed to Loki. Steve watched the interaction closely as it happened - Loki’s hand slid up, almost like the start of a slow dance, and encircled Bucky’s wrist, his thumb moving in a gentle but firm graze against vibranium. In response, that stiffness that Bucky carried seemed to intensify in every part of his body. But there was something bared and bright in his eyes.

“Come on,” Bucky said, just like Steve had earlier, but Loki’s response was visibly different. He didn’t explosively heft himself up or put dogged effort into his movements. And maybe that could be explained away by the fact that he had worked himself to fatigue not that long ago.

It’s like the food, Bucky had said, but now that Steve was really paying attention to it, he thought maybe that wasn’t a good enough comparison. Loki had seemed to acclimate to his ability to eat now that he wasn’t starving out of his mind; he was incredibly food-focused, but he hadn’t burst into tears for several meals.

Touch, on the other hand, he still reacted to with the same intensity, no matter how casual or brief. And he leaned on Bucky like he was gratefully sinking into him, never letting go of the vibranium wrist.

"That thing I said earlier about the underwhelming montage?" Sam whispered to Steve after the bathroom door had shut behind them. "Nevermind. Even Rocky'd probably be jealous of that treatment."

"Yeah," Steve quietly agreed.

Chapter Text

“Barnes, is staying a mute and passive sentry really how you are insisting on spending your time in here? You might as well return to whatever tasks you were so focused on outside. I am capable of calling for help should the need arise.”

Bucky glanced at Loki, whose eyes were closed while most of his body rested submerged beneath the water that filled the tub. The long line of his neck stretched from the surface, his head tilted back into the bath pillow, droplets on his skin shining in the light coming from the tall window in the wall beside him.

They’d been in the bathroom a while at that point, Loki taking his time to rest rather than make any effort at washing himself. Sam had stopped by the door just a few minutes earlier to comment on the ridiculous speed of the machines that made up Bucky’s washer and dryer.

Bucky looked away from Loki, not changing position from his spot against the wall across the room. He hadn’t exactly expected the time to pass in complete silence. “You passed out within the last 24 hours,” he said.

Water sloshed as Loki’s limbs moved through it. “And so because of that you are greatly concerned with my drowning in less than two feet of water.”

Bucky shrugged up a shoulder, still staring forward. "Don't really see how that's less of a rational line of thinking than getting irritated just because someone won't talk to you for ten minutes," he said bluntly.

“Ah, yes, how presumptive of me,” Loki said bitterly. The water shifted as he adjusted himself in the tub; Bucky could see his frame in the periphery of his vision as Loki stared at him more directly. “It’s only been ten minutes, and the fact that you glared daggers at me for the entirety of last night’s dinner, and then avoided me for hours today.” There was a pause, and then Loki slumped back down into his previous position. “And now you won’t even bother to look at me. You are clearly angry.”

"No," Bucky said, then amended. “Not anymore.”

Loki laughed; it wasn’t a kind sound. "You'll excuse me if I do not believe that, given the evidence."

"I know you want more from me being in here than just me making sure you don't kill yourself,” Bucky said. “But that’s not happening right now.”

"And that's an unreasonable expectation of me at this point, in your opinion,” Loki said, the bite not leaving his voice. “Well, if I had known just how much you would grow to regret a simple hug, perhaps I would not have done it.”

“This isn’t about the hug,” Bucky said. He swallowed, closing his eyes, and admitted, “I don’t regret it.”

Loki hadn’t sat up again, but Bucky could feel his gaze assessing him in the silence that followed. He turned his face farther away. "Just start up your damn bath already," he said, maybe a little too sharply.

More movement sounded from Loki, this time along with the sound of a bottle’s pump clicking as it was depressed. Bucky could practically feel how reluctant the motion was.

"This was much more pleasing when I did not have to do it myself," Loki eventually muttered.

But at least he did it.

Loki tried three or four more times during his time in the bathroom to get Bucky to help him more than he needed. Bucky stayed firm in keeping his distance. It wasn’t Loki’s arms he had brought to extreme fatigue with Steve’s workout.

Loki wasn't happy about it. He wasn't terrified like he once would have been, but even when he'd stopped trying to psychoanalyze Bucky and his motivations outwardly, Bucky knew the wheels in his head still had to be turning.

Bucky’s priorities had been shifted since his talk with Steve. Stepping on that slope at all at that point was going to lead to sliding down it. He’d woken up that morning with a clear view that he had to hold off: for Steve, for Loki - but most of all, for himself.

There was a way to go about this. And it wasn’t Loki’s way, even if that had been what started it. Even if just thinking about it still made his skin shiver.

Bucky turned his back while Loki dressed himself in the clothes Sam had carefully washed, dried, and even ironed. Somehow, Loki refrained from any more commentary about Bucky’s choice, the only sounds coming from him the grunts and gasps of exertion as he put the clothes on without help.

“I am done, Barnes,” Loki said. “You can stop shielding your eyes.”

Bucky turned around to see that Loki was standing, gripping the sides of the sink for balance as he stared into the large mirror above it. A fitted black button-up and dark green vest hugged his body, along with a pair of fancy-looking slacks and shining shoes.

The sight of Loki fully covered in the style he himself had chosen made Bucky pause. Loki didn't notice at first, smoothing his hand down the front of the vest as he looked at it himself, taking in a deep breath that almost sounded like relief.

When he turned his head, Bucky let himself keep looking. "What do you think?" Loki asked, turning just enough to present himself with one arm out, managing to put a hint of pride in his stance even while he was clearly keeping his other hand on the sink to steady himself.

Bucky considered saying nothing; maybe that would make him come off like too much of an asshole. The truth was that what that outfit did for Loki somehow seemed like it was helping more than all the food and physical therapy combined. There was a straightness to his shoulders, a confidence that hadn't been there before. Even a small satisfied smile was spreading on his face.

Bucky couldn't say what he exactly thought. So instead, he offered, "Think it's a good thing Steve and I aren't deciding your clothes for you anymore."

Loki’s smile widened. Looked like that was good enough.

Bucky took a measured breath as he considered Loki’s ability to stand - his legs looked like they’d steadied from his extended break in the tub. "How recovered are you?" he asked.

Loki dropped his arm, the smile slipping from his face. "Why?" he asked, full of curiosity.

"Because I want to know if you can manage a quarter of a mile walk."

Loki blinked, turning to the side like he was testing whether or not his legs would hold him. He slowly released his hand from the sink, then clamped it back down almost immediately. "It depends on whether or not you expect me to perform that on my own,” he answered. There was a testiness to Loki's tone, like he was daring Bucky to be a dick about it.

"I'll help," Bucky said. When Loki gazed at him in surprise, he stared back meaningfully. “But not more than that.”

"But not more than that," Loki repeated, holding his stare. He sighed, and nodded in agreement, holding out his arm to beckon Bucky over. "Well, then. Let us...go for a walk."

They didn’t escape the house without commentary.

Mostly from Sam, who whistled appreciatively from his spot sitting next to Steve on the couch. “Hell, he sure cleans up well. The man knows what suits him.”

“Thank you,” Loki said.

“You heading somewhere?” Steve asked once Loki and Bucky had bypassed the cushions on the floor.

“We are walking,” Loki answered for Bucky. “At the exclusion of anything else.”

Bucky glared at Loki for the implication. “We’ll be back in a bit,” he said, not looking at Steve’s expression as he pulled Loki towards the door. “Longer if he collapses.”

“Don’t keep him out too long,” Sam said behind them. “I’m about to start dinner.”

Steve didn’t say anything as they walked out. But right now, Bucky at least knew the two of them were more on the same page than Bucky and Loki.

The path they took was along the start of one of Bucky's favored running routes on the property. He didn't maintain the area so much beyond the garden, but his own footsteps had trampled through the growth in enough rounds that they had made a visible walkway on the ground. The grass and weeds covering the ground had grown sparse from the summer heat; they would come back green and lush in the spring, except where Bucky trampled them back down again.

Loki walked next to him with dogged concentration, eyes up in forward. Bucky let him grip him how he wanted, ignoring when fingers curled into his skin. He knew that after the training Steve had put him through that morning most of Loki’s energy was going to be on just sustaining the walk. It was probably too soon for him to be out and moving again; already Bucky could feel Loki’s fatigue slowing him down, the usual talking pared down to the occasional grunt or gasp. His endurance was better, but it was still severely limited.

But everything he'd said to Bucky during the bath had just reinforced how much he was operating under a thousand assumptions. Bucky had to set the record straight.

Loki kept moving steadily, even though every step grew more and more visibly painful. When Bucky finally brought them to a stop, Loki was too busy gratefully sucking in air to notice what was waiting for them through the trees.

When he sounded less like his lungs were collapsing, Loki forced his back straight. "Well,” he said. “Have I proved myself enough for you?"

Bucky frowned - Loki thought he’d taken him on a walk so he could test his strength? "That's not why we came out here,” Bucky said.

"Oh," Loki said, trying to readjust the grip of his trembling arm across Bucky’s shoulders. "Then are you intending on killing me and disposing of my body?"

It was a joke, but… "Not at this point," Bucky said, feeling the fresh stab of an old ache in his chest. When Loki looked at him sharply, he shrugged. "Back when you first landed in the garden, it crossed my mind pretty much every hour. Thought it would be better if you were put out of your misery."

“Back then,” Loki said, his eyes closing for a moment as he swallowed. "Back then, I would have agreed with you. Once I had enough mind to agree at all.”

Bucky wasn’t surprised by that.

“What stopped you?” Loki asked, thick with curiosity. “You shattered my shoulder well enough. It would have been simple.”

“Steve wanted to see if you’d come back from it,” Bucky said. He exhaled, moving them forward another few steps so what he was bringing them towards would be even more obvious. “He hasn’t been wrong about anything yet.”

There was a pause, then Loki asked, almost cautiously. “And is that the extent of your answer?”

Instead of responding with words, Bucky indicated the forward direction with a nod. Loki turned his eyes to where Bucky had indicated, and squinted.

The greenhouse stood a ways ahead of them, its large structure of cedar wood standing out against the green of the trees and the white rocks placed around its base. That morning, it had been incomplete, the last of the polycarbonate sheets still sitting in a haphazard pile near Bucky’s house. It had also been completely empty.

Bucky brought Loki closer, so he could see that the spacious interior of it had been fully decorated, the walls and ceiling covered in hanging lanterns, the floor holding such a substantial amount of cushions there was barely enough room to walk. The building itself had been positioned so that once inside, the person occupying it would have a straight on view of the large pond that sat on the property, flush with water reeds. Ducks paddled along the edge while smaller birds flitted over the surface, picking off gathering insects. A small group of turtles sat on the shore, their heads tilted back to the late afternoon sun.

Loki stared wordlessly, allowing Bucky to lower him down inside the greenhouse just beyond the doorway, his new shoes propped up on the stone steps. He looked around at the walls surrounding him. "You built this."

"Most of it was done before you got here," Bucky said, stepping inside himself.

Loki looked up at him, brow pinched. “And its intended use?”

Bucky looked around, walking over to a hanging flowerpot and deadheaded one of the buds, crushing it between vibranium fingers. "You said you wanted outside.”

Loki turned sharply, his mouth hanging open. He let his eyes go over the sunlit panels, the small collection of plants Bucky had gathered to color up the inside. "I...Barnes." He paused, and swallowed, hands twitching like he wanted to reach out. "Bucky."

Bucky shook his head, moving to check the next flowerpot. "Not yet," he said firmly. "You help me out without blowing yourself up. Then we'll talk."

“You expect me to believe this is meaningless,” Loki said, the frustration he’d been nursing over their interactions coming back to the forefront.

Bucky turned and met Loki’s eyes. “It’s not,” he said. “But it’s not just for you.”

Loki’s eyes widened in realization. He looked around again.

“Anyway, didn’t want to risk the garden,” Bucky said dryly, stepping back out. He stared out at the pond, letting the afternoon sun beat down on his shoulders, listening to the quiet. “Take a minute,” he said, that long-held ache in his chest daring to calm - just a small amount. “Let me know when you’re ready to head back.”

Chapter Text

Once he brought Loki back to the house, Barnes left quickly and, true to his increasingly laconic quality, without more than a few succinct words.

Loki sat upon the cushions in the living room in the aftermath of his impersonal walk, catching his breath, the sun’s rays stretching towards him from the far window. The ball of frustration in his stomach felt as if it was only moments away from completing its expansion to maddening levels.

Barnes had acknowledged his longing, but insisted on holding it at arms’ length. Why precisely, Loki did not know, but every attempt to whittle down that harsh exterior had been summarily rebuffed. Had he not been a shadow of his former self, he would have refused Barnes his retreat. As it was, Loki needed considerable rest before he even considered struggling against gravity again.

And he had the sneaking suspicion that nothing less than the power of an Infinity Stone would have swayed Barnes.

He lightly slammed his own fist upon his thigh, bowing his head. Trapped in the void of space for five years, and now it seemed Loki’s patience was all the poorer for it. In other areas, however, he knew there was a marked improvement; the last time his emotions had been toyed with in such a way, his response had not been as charitable. The admission from Barnes that there was hope of reciprocity had stoked his urges to eager life, though such a response made him feel more of a victim to his own plan than the mastermind.

Why was Barnes so concerned with the remnants in his arm that he would delay his own gratification? They simply existed. Had Steve not possessed the same remnant from a stone, they would have not even known of them.

There were critical pieces to the puzzle Loki had yet to discover. But would he even learn them once he had managed to give Barnes what he needed? It seemed that nothing less than a spell would bring such information to light.

He stared down at his hands, at the wrists and arms that had once been flesh pulled taut over bone, now filled out with muscle, veins prominent under pale skin. He could feel his magic rekindling just the same, flowing through his cells. Strong enough that he could call it forth at will, if only briefly.

He attempted to redirect his racing thoughts, slowly laying back upon the cushions, placing an arm behind his head. His tensed muscles thanked him for the relief, and he inhaled deeply, shutting his eyes, resigned to the logic of making himself still and quiet for the time being to facilitate his body’s recovery.

The day would pass, one way or another, and a new one would begin. And at the end of it, his influence could once more be applied, with the promise of more of his power regained.

And, perhaps - something else could be forged in the process.

Footsteps approached some time later, followed by the familiar sound of a smoothie bottle being placed against the floor beside him. "Everything all right?"

Loki belatedly realized he had been frowning even though his eyes were shut. He opened them to the sight of Steve, and did not bother to hide his lingering discontent. "Barnes said he will not be joining us for dinner," he said, reaching for the bottle and laboriously dragging his body into an upright position. "He will be busy fine tuning a shelter he’s built to hold us tomorrow evening. And avoiding me in the process.” He took a long drink, downing nearly a third of the container at once, eager to sate at least one of his body’s ravenous demands.

Steve frowned and folded his arms, stepping forward and looking out the window that was closest to the direction Barnes took for his project. "I don’t think you’re the only one he's avoiding," he admitted.

It's not just for you, Barnes had said.

Loki had known and feared his longing for his caretakers as soon as it had begun to show itself. Barnes was clearly making a game attempt at surpassing that fear.

Loki shook his head, taking another drink. “If he’d had his way, we would have been waiting months before the first attempt at drawing the energies out.”

“He wants things to go well tomorrow,” Steve said, looking back down at Loki, the shadow gone from his brow. “He’ll be there when it counts.”

He would, Loki knew, because now Barnes had set the terms - Loki would have to successfully complete the task he himself had presented as an option before there could be any further progression of the tension between them. It was a responsibility Loki had been attempting to manipulate into being, but now that he had it, of course he was finding it to not be as satisfactory as he had hoped.

“And what of you,” Loki asked, tapping his fingers against the bottle. “Are your thoughts on the matter the same as they were?”

Steve put his hands on his waist, his head dipping in deliberation as his blond locks fell against his forehead. “I think I’ve got the easy part,” he said after a moment.

Loki laughed, feeling his lips spread wide with mirth. “Do you?” he asked, still smiling. “You’ve faced down armies. Gods. Even wielded the weapon only the worthy can hold.” Loki tilted his head, looking Steve over, raising the smoothie bottle. “And now you’ve nursed one of your former enemies back to approximate health.” He took his final drink, allowing himself to savor the sugar that rushed over his tongue before he spoke again. “I know that if what we were about to do could count itself among the most difficult tasks you would ever undertake in your lifetime, you would still follow through. Even if it had a high chance of failure.” He shut the smoothie bottle, running his fingers along the rim. He looked towards the window, the light of the sun casting its shine upon swaying branches of the trees beyond. “And yet…you stand here, and say he avoids you. And you do nothing to change that.”

A hand descended beside Loki’s face, palm open. Loki hesitated, then passed the bottle back, for a moment wondering what the response would be were he to have pushed here and now, for himself as well as Steve. The people around him did not have the years upon years of an Asgardian to spare - why were they so insistent on denying themselves?

Steve took the smoothie bottle, placing it in his right hand, while with his left he reached down for Loki’s shoulder, clamping it in place and squeezing firmly. Loki’s breath caught in his throat as he looked up, the unexpected touch warm even through the fabric of his new clothes.

“We are changing it,” Steve said simply, and Loki did not miss the inclusion in the phrasing. "Sam should be out of the shower any minute to finish up dinner.” He removed his hand, leaving Loki on the floor with only his roiling emotions. “I can grab some of Bucky’s books if you want to borrow a few to read while you’re waiting.”

Loki did not see how he would be able to distract himself with works of fiction at this point. Or at any point, ever again. He still managed to answer, "That would be appreciated, thank you."

Valkyrie returned just before the completion of dinner, dressed in a large, baggy shirt, her hair hanging loose around her face.

“You were gone,” Loki noted, setting aside the book he’d nearly finished as she crossed the room towards him, glad of the additional distraction.

“Yeah. Took a trip back to New Asgard. I wanted to make sure Thor hadn’t reached out.” She shook her head before Loki could ask through the eager ache in his chest. “No word yet. Not that I’m expecting much of one when he does arrive.”

“He’d much prefer a grand entrance,” Loki agreed. He supposed at this point he could only hope it would be within the next hundred years.

“And you wouldn’t?” Valkyrie looked him up and down teasingly, but the smile she formed in response was more appreciative. “Someone’s gone pretty fancy. Want some help up?”

“Ah, yes.” Loki clapped his hand against hers when it was offered, finding his legs stiff but obedient after the long day as they were once again straightened beneath him. He glanced back at the door once he was up, but knew that if Barnes had said he would not be joining them, he would not be joining them.

“How do your hosts like it?” Valkyrie asked as she walked beside him towards the kitchen, where said hosts were beginning to organize the place settings on the table.

“One has yet to comment on it and the other one is deliberately keeping himself far away from me,” Loki said, unable to help the bitterness in his tone. “Sam complimented me.”

“Guessing the second one is Barnes,” she said, pulling a chair out for him as they reached the kitchen table. “I saw him on my flight back. He’s still working away in the middle of the forest.”

"I'll take something out to him when we're done," Sam said, shaking a large bowl of cut fruit to mix it. “His ass is not skipping another meal.” He nudged his shoulder against Steve, who was gathering several glasses from the cupboard. “Hey. You should show Loki the latest from your sketchbook.”

“Ooohh, more drawings?” Valkyrie asked, setting her elbows on the table and leaning forward in interest.

Steve shook his head, but reached for the bound book that was sitting on the far end of the counter. He put it on the table and slid it over so it would come to a stop between Valkyrie and Loki.

Valkyrie reached for it before Loki could, pulling it open eagerly. “Shit,” she said, pausing on one of the earlier pages.

It displayed a pencil sketch of Loki, skeletal, neck swollen and bruised as he lay upon a bench, haloed by snarled hair, his eyes half-open and senseless. His right wrist was set across his chest, saturated with blackened shades from broken bones.

They found more images of that same wrist as it began to improve, the marks fading. In the full sketches of Loki that followed, the imprint of the Infinity Gauntlet lingered upon his skin longer than everything else.

Loki’s stomach churned, his very skin tingling. He instinctively reached for his neck, settling his own hand against his throat, noting the lack of pain. Then he took a deep breath just to reassure himself that he could.

Healed, now. Healed, while Thanos was dead.

Valkyrie moved through the sketchbook. Loki found he was not the only subject caught in its pages - there were idle sketches of plants from the garden, views of the landscape alongside Bucky’s house itself, and then - the others. A brief story told in pictures of a familiar-looking soldier who fought off insects with a weapon that shot water as he took orders from a squirrel that shouted loudly from branches overhead. Sam Wilson sat upon the couch with his laptop and the shield at his side, backlit by the sun, the shadow of it stretched long beside him. Loki and his nap beneath Valkyrie’s winged horse beside the garden fence. Barnes, sitting upon his bed, hair loose and body relaxed, his gaze open with wonder. Valkyrie, Loki and Sam, all slumbering together in the living room.

And then even more drawings - Sam and his large smile, standing over the stove as he cooked. Valkyrie meditating with her sword. Finally, there was Loki, standing upright, his curled hair falling about his shoulders, dressed in the outfit he had chosen for himself. Steve had seen it only briefly before Loki had left the house with Barnes supporting him - but his attention to the details, down to the soft lines that curled about on the front of the vest like snakes, were so perfect as to have been replicated by magic.

A complete change from the near-dead figure at the start of the book.

Valkyrie poked at the image of Loki in his new vest. “How’s that for a comment?”

Loki swallowed, his gaze going to Steve, who dipped his head and averted his eyes, grabbing two platters of food to set upon the table.

“Okay,” Sam said, placing the remaining dishes down before he took his seat, reaching a hand out to point at each platter in turn. “We got watermelon salad, grilled corn, grilled chimichurri chicken thighs, and coconut lime rice. I already set up Buck’s plate so take as much as you want.”

“Oh, I will, thank you very much,” Valkyrie said, immediately reaching for the rice.

“Are you planning on hiring Sam as well as Steve to toil for you on New Asgard,” Loki asked.

“Good idea,” she said, then gave Sam a gauging look. “How far away are you from retirement?”

Sam laughed, metal tongs bringing two helpings of meat to his plate. “I’m not out yet,” he said. “Especially not now that I don’t have any injuries as an excuse to stay laid up. Speaking of - we should talk about today,” he said, looking directly at Loki. “That was a lot of work in a short amount of time. Last night's magic show and a workout and a hike. How are you holding up?"

Loki considered as he portioned out his food; while during the strenuous events he often wondered if he would even survive to the next moment, at their conclusion his body was quick to regain itself. "I could do more," he said, truthfully.

"And you don't seem too fatigued to sit at the table," Sam observed. "That's good. That means your recovery window is decreasing even after all that expenditure. This whole thing might go even better than we thought."

"And if it doesn’t, I brought back a few items from Asgard," Valkyrie announced, pulling a large satchel from her side. She placed it on the table next to her plate. "Healing stones. Potions. Just in case you really fuck it up,” she said to Loki, then jerked her head in indication at Steve. “Or them.”

"And your people did not question your decision to gather these items and leave a second time," Loki asked.

"My people can handle themselves," Valkyrie said, rummaging through the bag’s contents. "You, on the other hand…” She shrugged, pulling out a cylindrical device and handing it to Sam, who grasped it with one hand and pulled out his phone with the other. “Think you need an army.”

Loki narrowed his eyes at her coincidental wording.

She raised her eyebrows, pointing at Steve’s sketchbook. “Do you want me to reopen this?”

“No,” Loki said quickly, happy to never again see the visual representation of what Thanos had done to him. Even the thought had dulled the edge of his normally sharp hunger.

“Loki,” Steve said. “If you can do more tonight, I think we should do more.”

“I agree,” Loki said. He was at the point now that plans and schemes would serve him little; it was his body he needed to master. “Another walk around the room should be easy enough.”

“Actually, I thought we’d mix it up a little,” Steve said.

At that moment, the device Valkyrie had handed to Sam began to emit a loud, chiming song. “Got it,” Sam said in triumph, just as a man’s joyful voice rang out clear from the cylinder, joined soon after by a woman’s. Sam set the device aside, bobbing his head rhythmically to the music as the voices began to sing about mountains and valleys.

Loki looked at the device in confusion, then at Steve, who was smiling at him. “How do you feel about dancing?”

Chapter Text

When all was said and done, he had one final chance to dance with Peggy.

”This isn’t a failure, Steve,” she’d said before they’d started, standing in her SHIELD uniform beside the record player, soft evening light hitting the curtains of their shared home and reflecting off her curled hair. “You came back to me. I never expected to have the chance for even one more single hour.” She smiled, her eyes shining with the inevitability of what they both knew was coming. “A lot of people don’t get that luxury, let alone the knowledge that their lover gets to continue on to live a fulfilling life.”

She was right. Steve knew she was right. But it didn’t stop the ache inside of him any more than it would stop the tears that would trail down her face as they said goodbye.

If he was the type of person that could let go, ignore the suffering just out of his reach, focus on what was inside of him…maybe they’d have a chance. But he’d tried that. For months and months.

He breathed in the now-familiar air of their shared home, and managed to summon a small smile. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you actually going to turn that on already?” He nodded towards the record player.

The shine in Peggy’s eyes grew as she reached out a hand, moving the needle, the smooth sound of a trumpet filling the room as they closed the distance between them.

She’d needed to teach him how to move, those first few times. Now, he knew the steps to the dance they’d made together as much as he knew the handling of the vibranium disc sitting in its case across the room. Which meant she didn’t need to pay attention to where he was stepping, and he didn’t need to think about it. They just were, bodies together, crushed under the weight of their inevitable separation but so, so grateful and full of love that for a few seconds, none of that mattered. They didn’t need to talk about it; they didn’t need any more reassurances because the fact was, they’d always known some version of this was coming.

Steve knew all of that in the moment, as Harry James & His Orchestra swept them into its melody, and Kitty Kallen sang their thoughts, and the gentle sway of their bodies together filled his lungs and warmed him like it always did.

And then, less than an hour later, he was standing on a platform by a lakeside, in a world where Peggy had passed away and Bucky’s lifetime of imprisonment and torment hadn’t been changed in the slightest, and it somehow felt like every single atom of oxygen had been taken from his lungs. Sam was there, ready to welcome Steve back with a good-natured smirk, while Bucky’s brow creased and his silence loomed.

It had been the right thing, giving Sam the shield. Almost like everything Steve had ever done had lead to it; the continuation of that work, the symbol. For nearly two years it had done nothing but sit in the hands of a man who had tried his absolute hardest and still couldn’t change anything - and maybe the reason for that had been because of an overarching demand from a nebulous cosmic power, but Steve had known it was time.

It felt like that fact was the only thing he did know with any certainty, as he left the others behind at the site, no plan or mission or purpose beyond that ache that was growing and growing in his chest.

Sometimes we need to move on, Peggy had said, before he’d lost her for a second time.

The problem was, moving on had never been something Steve had really ever done. And in a lifetime where he’d fought aliens and time travelled and lifted an unliftable magic lightning hammer, it seemed like the most impossible feat a person could ever hope to achieve.

“Steve,” Sam called, “you planning on being a wallflower all evening?”

Steve blinked repeatedly, refocusing on the scene in front of him - Sexual Healing booming from Valkyrie’s speaker, turned as loud as it could go while Sam and Valkyrie and Loki formed an awkward triad in the middle of the living room. Loki was keeping himself mostly upright as they moved but he still looked confused and dubious even a few songs in, not so much dancing himself as allowing his body to be guided around while Valkyrie and Sam traded off being supports.

“Nah, this one’s your area of expertise, Sam,” Steve said, his shoulder pressed against the wall, which only glowed dimly since they’d set out every light and lantern they could find in anticipation of nightfall.

“Damn straight,” Sam said, guiding Loki towards Valkyrie as he backed off to do a few unburdened spins and hand motions.

Valkyrie put a forceful hand on Loki’s shoulder, spinning while he took in a sharp breath and concentrated hard on keeping up with the steps, her grin widening as he only stumbled a little.

”Not bad,” she said, pulling them in tight together before pushing him back. “Knew this was the song for you.”

Get up, get up, get up, get up, Marvin Gaye sang. Let’s make love tonight.

Loki looked over his shoulder at Steve, panic in his eyes as he was jostled roughly by her enthusiastic movements. Steve felt a stir of amusement at the sight, enough to bring a smile to his face.

“Stop looking so worried,” Sam said, taking over by grabbing Loki’s hand, drawing him to the other side of the room and shimmying eagerly. “You got this. And it doesn’t even carry the risk of you spontaneously combusting like all the other stuff you’ve been trying to do.”

”Would you like to make that a wager?” Loki asked dryly, half-breathless.

”No,” Sam said, face bright with teasing joy as he brought Loki’s arm out straight above them before bringing it to the side. “But fair warning: if you do explode with magic, I’m gonna take it as a compliment.”

I think I’m capsizing, the way I’m rising, and rising, Marvin Gaye added.

”Steve,” Valkyrie said lowly, stepping closer while Sam kept Loki going in the background. “Did you dance all that much when you were younger? Or was the whole really sick and frail childhood thing too much of an impediment?”

Steve huffed out a breath, raising his eyebrows. ”I’ve danced,” he said, shoulders still firmly on the wall. “And I’m not sick anymore.”

”No,” Valkyrie agreed, looking him up and down, something softening in her eyes, at odds with the celebratory crooning that filled the living room. “Just in that way we’ve all got.”

Steve felt the smile on his face go self-deprecating, his head dipping down.

Valkyrie reached out to softly touch his bicep and regain his attention. “I’m no expert, but I think moments like this are supposed to be good for that,” she said, then shrugged. “It’s definitely healthier than my preferred option. Plus it’s always funny to watch Loki struggle.”

”The couch,” Loki demanded in a hissed breath behind her, loud enough to carry over the music. “The couch - ah!”

Sam deposited Loki down on the cushions and he curled over his knees, panting open-mouthed as the song played on.

Valkyrie looked over her shoulder, then gave Steve a pointed look. “See?”

Sam laughed, then patted Loki on the shoulder just as the track changed and Trouble Man started up. “Come on, let’s go! You’re not allowed to take this one off.”

”That’s our cue,” Valkyrie said, firmly tugging Steve into the middle of the living room with one hand, while with the other she reached out and bodily hauled Loki up by the front of his vest and all but swung him towards Steve.

Steve held his hands out, helping Loki brace just as Valkyrie released them both and the piano came in on the speaker. The top button to Loki’s vest had been undone, leaving a section of pale skin exposed down past his collarbones, accentuated by the sheer black curls of his hair that fell on either side of it.

Loki blinked as he steadied himself, his hand clenched tight against Steve’s shoulder. He cleared his throat, attempting to straighten up to his full height, just a couple of inches taller. “Hello,” he said, still not fully caught up on his breaths. He tilted his head as he peered questioningly at Steve. “Are you capable of dancing?”

I didn’t make it sugar, playin’ by the rules.

Steve rolled his eyes, glancing down to note the general steadiness of Loki’s legs, the way his breath caught further when Steve testingly moved his hand lower towards his hip for support.

Not so much the fatigue that was the problem.

“I’m the one who suggested it,” Steve reminded, intentionally gripping a little harder as he started to step. Loki’s eyes widened as he looked down in surprise, then back up as he grimly began to follow the beat in turn.

“There you go,” Sam encouraged a few seconds later, his hands locked with Valkyrie as he swung their arms to the bass. “Did you guys do a lot of dancing on Asgard?”

”Without speakers,” Valkyrie said, laughing as Sam gave an exaggerated sway of his hips. “At least when I was there.”

“We did not see fit to develop speakers in our ongoing oversight of the Nine Realms,” Loki said. His hand on Steve’s shoulder carefully readjusted closer to his neck, his eyes glued to Steve’s gaze.

“New Asgard has plenty,” Valkyrie said, her hair swaying as she twirled with Sam. “The ones combined with Asgardian technology are a big hit with the tourists. But we had musicians, bards…and in the absence of either, we were very good at singing as a group.”

“Did you sing?” Steve asked Loki, genuinely curious.

Loki laughed, the sound soft and brief, followed by a stretch of his lips that quickly faded. “Sometimes,” he answered. “Though I preferred the theater. Too many of the bards were heavily enamored with Thor.”

”I can imagine that,” Valkyrie said.

“Me too,” Sam said. “Come on, let’s make some room. I want to practice my dip.”

”As long as I get to try mine,” Valkyrie said as she followed him.

“And what of you,” Loki asked Steve. “Before you were a soldier, did you dance?”

Steve thought of all the time spent with Bucky before the war, the girls Bucky would either take out alone or try to optimistically set up with Steve. ”Not exactly,” he said.

”You clearly learned somewhere,” Loki noted.

Harry James & His Orchestra sounded somewhere in the back of Steve’s mind, distant and faint. “Picked up a few things here and there,” he said.

“It’s more than that,” Loki said, refusing to be deterred. The hand not on Steve’s shoulder braced around his back, fingers spreading just to the side of his spine as he pressed their bodies close, lowering his voice so only Steve would hear. “The others are dancing for fun. You, on the other hand…you dance as a lover would.” He was still staring into Steve’s eyes as he said it, almost challengingly, like he was daring him to pull back.

Steve wasn’t going to pull back.

There’s only three things for sure
Taxes, death, and trouble, oh

”I prefer this song to the others,” Loki proclaimed, his voice raised again, the smile returning to his face.

”And the man continues to have amazing taste,” Sam said.

Steve took a few quick steps to the side and Loki followed him just as quick, his throat working once they came to a different spot. A shudder ran through his body and he almost misstepped, the hands on Steve clenching harder so he could stabilize himself.

“You tiring out?” Steve asked, not bothering to slow down.

“Not precisely,” Loki said, taking carefully modulated breaths through his open mouth. He looked searchingly over Steve’s expression. “But I think you are well aware of that.”

“You can handle it,” Steve said, with the same stern and guiding tone he used when Loki was fighting fatigue.

Loki laughed again, more fully than the last time. The smile didn’t fade, either, as he tilted his chin up, back to speaking in a hushed volume. “And what would you say if I told you I had very little interest in containing it?”

Steve let that statement run through him; he shrugged. “I guess we’ll find that out tomorrow night.” He turned them in a slow circle, Loki keeping up despite the new hesitance on his expression. “You said it yourself; I’m not oblivious.”

Loki looked like he wanted to say more, but the song began to end, filling the living room with silence.

And then the front door opened, cool night air rushing in as Bucky stepped into the house, the empty plate from the food Sam had brought out to him clutched in his hand. Steve felt the tension in Loki’s body immediately increase, but couldn’t tell whether that was more from the sight of Bucky or the dark outside.

Bucky closed the door behind himself, looking them all over before his eyes lingered on Steve’s. Steve looked back as the next song started up, and for several seconds no one moved or spoke.

“The greenhouse is done,” Bucky eventually said. He didn’t sound angry.

“I’m guessing you’re not saying that because you want to join the dance party,” Sam said, hesitantly starting to move with Valkyrie again.

“No,” Bucky agreed.

“You want to hang, at least? It’s your house,” Sam said, letting Valkyrie take the lead in their dance as Marvin Gaye began to croon. “We’re just getting started. You can watch Val dip me.”

“When he’s not falling all over himself Loki does this thing sometimes when he moves where it doesn’t even look like he has bones in his body,” Valkyrie helpfully added.

Bucky looked sharply towards Loki. Then he looked at Steve, and then where their hands met each other’s bodies. “No,” he said again, voice flat. “But you guys have fun.”

He walked past them into the kitchen, washing the dinner plate with meticulous care before putting it on the drying rack. Then he moved down the hallway towards his bedroom without another glance.

“I’m surprised he actually gave us his blessing,” Sam said once the door closed, getting back into the groove in earnest.

Loki, on the other hand, was staring down the hallway, standing completely still. Steve squeezed at his hip to get his attention.

“Tomorrow,” he said, when Loki’s eyes met his. He nodded downwards at their bodies. “That’s why we’re doing this.”

Loki gave a single sharp jerk of his head. He readjusted his grip on Steve and determinedly began to sway again, eyes closed in concentration, or maybe for another reason.

That didn’t matter. Even if he didn’t want to do it, Loki was making the effort to control himself.

And maybe Steve wasn’t as unaffected by it all as he tried to be. He kept his thoughts on the goal; the things he could help change for the better.

They were going to help Bucky. Then they would unravel this…whatever it was, in the day to come.

I want you, Marvin Gaye sang as they moved. But I want you to want me too.

Chapter Text

Within his very first few minutes inside the house, Bucky had ripped out the phone line and left the phone itself a shattered mess on polished tile floors.

The property was huge; the nearest neighbor was miles away. The nearest town even farther than that. He was isolated, but not unreachable.

The building looked new; the exterior walls were free of debris, the windows shone clear. He’d found faded footprints leading up to the porch but if anyone had previously tracked dirt onto it the wood had since been swept spotless.

In the mass of stunned confusion that he hadn’t managed to shrug off since Mrs. Potts had caught him by the lake, he thought about leaving. Taking off, because if Stark’s wife had given him the deed that very likely meant Stark himself knew where he was, and could be waiting to finish what he started in Siberia. He’d remember it all the more vividly now, along with the new nightmare he carried thanks to Bucky.

The house had plenty of easy points for infiltration even for someone who couldn’t just blast the walls with a combat suit. And Stark was a gadgets man - he wouldn’t even need to be there in person if the place had been arranged prior to Bucky’s arrival.

There could be traps somewhere inside. Maybe even unmanned suits. Stark’s weaponry could take the shape of anything inconspicuous and assemble at a moment’s quickness. A smart move to bypass another high risk altercation in close quarters with the Winter Soldier.

Bucky’s following search for any signs of such a device was painstaking. In the living room he first checked the floorboards, the couch, the television, and the large sound system set up around it. He turned the coffee table onto its side, eyeing its mahogany expanse before leaving it overturned on the floor next to the couch cushions that he’d spread in disarray.

In the kitchen he opened the cabinets one by one, removing the dishes contained within and running his eyes over every inch of the interiors. He examined the fancy-looking coffeemaker on the counter, the various cooking devices. Looked into the empty, unplugged fridge, including the icemaker compartment. Pulled out the shelves and left them on the ground.

He moved cautiously down the adjoining hallway, and found three bedrooms, all furnished with beds and bedding. They looked unlived in but there wasn’t the staleness of air he’d associate with a place long abandoned. Each of the bathrooms attached was well stocked with toiletries, towels, all gleaming tile and pristine sinks. He sorted through every item, checked the seals, the faucets, felt along the seams of wood, determinedly looking for anything out of place.

He found the basement door and stairs next, pausing as he looked down into the long stretch into the dark, listening to the silence. Then he flipped on the light switch so his way would be illuminated, and slowly stepped down, his steps echoing on the stairs. Below he found weight machines and entertainment equipment, along with another bathroom adjacent to the space. He had a moment, when he was doing his survey, to feel baffled at the amount of money that must have gone into the place. He knew his death was probably worth a hell of a lot to Stark, but he’d figured that budget would have gone into designing some sort of new superweapon designed to specifically deal with him.

Maybe Stark and Potts were so well off they could justify the expense. And maybe he just hadn’t found that superweapon, yet.

The basement took time to clear. He fiddled with the weight machines, checked the walls, wondered how many bathrooms a place like that house really needed. But clear it was, and so he moved on to the last side of the building he had yet to cover, the door that led to a generously-sized garage.

It was fully stocked, lined with shelves and boxes, tools and supplies. A grill, next to some containers of gasoline. A motorcycle stood near the garage door, resting with clean sleek lines of black and silver.

There were hundreds of items.

Grimly, doggedly, Bucky looked through them all.

By the time he re-entered the house, his search having come up empty, the sun had gone down. He started another sweep, even slower than the last - living room, kitchen, bedrooms, basement, garage, each one of the five bathrooms. Again and again he looked, patrolling an endless path, watchful for anything he’d missed.

Living room, kitchen, bedrooms, basement, garage.

Living room, kitchen, bedrooms, basement, garage.

Eventually, he found himself sitting on the floor beneath one of the windows in the living room as the first light of day started to cast hues of blue on the sky, ignoring his thirst and hunger as he stared at the expanse of white wall above the television.

The house was quiet. Empty. Dark. Everything was in his name - he’d even found files of papers listing various forms of insurance, which only solidified his expectation that Stark knew the thing would come to ruin somehow.

But nothing inside was conspicuous. He still knew better than to drop his guard when he didn’t know Stark’s play.

He figured he’d find that out as soon as Stark decided he needed to. The catch.

“Bucky, come on. I thought you said last night that the greenhouse was done?”

Bucky turned his head to the side to glance at Sam, who was standing on the path leading to the greenhouse’s entrance, frown lines and confusion obvious beneath his sunglasses. There was a plate in his hand, loosely covered by foil, that a pair of black and yellow wasps hovered over in agitated sweeping motions.

Bucky shrugged, turning back to adjust the curtains he’d been installing. “Thought of one or two more adjustments I wanted to make.” He’d actually thought of about a couple dozen, not the least of which was having Steve come out and paint the inside of it with Stark’s special glowing colors. But he’d thought of Steve being out there with him, alone, and he’d backed out of the idea fast.

“Right,” Sam said, jerking the plate back from the insects still trying to infiltrate it. “You know, the skipping out thing is getting a little old. Be nice if I didn’t have to fight off a contingent of yellow jackets trying to get you your breakfast.”

“You didn’t have to come out at all,” Bucky said as he moved around to the back of the structure where he’d left his supplies nestled in a patch of cleared ground.

“And you didn’t have to give up your place to house a bunch of Avengers so they could have a dance party. Sometimes people do weird things.”

Bucky didn’t need that reminder: the thought of Loki and Steve pressed into each other, arms entangled. He shook the feeling off before it could take root, crouching down.

Sam cursed sharply behind him. “Hey! Get out of here.”

“Just let them have a piece,” Bucky said, grabbing a string of lights. “They’ll leave you alone.”

“I’m about to dump this entire breakfast burrito on the ground and let everything in this field have at it if you and that manbun don’t get over here. This place won’t be half so inviting when it’s covered in ants.”

Bucky wanted to call Sam’s bluff, but just at that moment his stomach decided to chime in and make a game attempt at crawling up into his throat. Like his body was making him pay for suppressing one urge by dialing up the other. Reluctantly, he abandoned his supplies and came back around, accepting the plate as Sam pulled off the foil.

“That’s what I thought,” Sam said, stepping back and folding his arms.

Bucky lifted the plate’s contents, warm, wrapped in a large tortilla, and took a bite. His stomach nearly squeezing in a vice with the flood of savory flavors, the crunch of fresh produce and the hints of melted cheese. He reached in with vibranium fingers to pinch out a piece of chicken, which he held out in his palm until the lingering wasps caught wind. After approaching in a few increasingly aggravated stops and starts, they landed, crawling over metal to get at the offering, antennae twitching. Bucky took another few bites while he watched them shred the meat with their jaws until they’d each pulled off their own sizable chunks. Then they flew away with their prizes.

Sam scoffed. “Figures.”

Bucky swallowed down his latest mouthful and managed to make himself pause long enough in his eating to respond. “What?”

Sam shook his head, lips pulled into a smile. “You can’t handle squirrels or aphids, but those things are some of the meanest damn bugs on the planet and you’ve built a rapport. You know they’re just gonna tell their friends.”

“I‘ll let them know all the bedrooms and the couch are taken,” Bucky said, then took another huge bite, finishing off the food in the next two.

Sam watched him eat, eyebrows raised. “So is the not hungry excuse still the front you’re going with?”

Bucky exhaled through his nostrils, still chewing, heading back around the greenhouse to get back to work, cursing internally when he noticed the string of lights he’d been going for had - somehow - got tangled in on itself.

“Look,” Sam said, following him. “If you want us out-“

“I don’t want you out,” Bucky said, trying to find the best knot to straighten the line.

“So what? You want you out?”

Bucky didn’t answer.

“You’ve always been weird about this place,” Sam said. “You know you don’t have to stay here, right?”

Bucky frowned at the line, wondering how one motion could make everything so twisted. “That’s not it,” he said. “I like it here.”

“And the company?”

He found the loop to loosen, careful to not damage the bulbs as he worked it free. “Sometimes I like the company,” he said.

“So much that you keep running your ass out here to avoid everyone,” Sam said. ”Buck, I’ve been getting more out of Loki than you in the last few weeks, and Loki thought I was gonna call down all of Earth to lock him up until last Tuesday.”

Bucky sighed through his nose, heading back to the curtains he’d just installed. “I like it here,” he repeated, pulling the curtains aside to double check no wasps had gotten into the interior.

“But you’ve decided to keep yourself distanced from the house and drive everyone crazy.”

Satisfied it was all clear, he turned back around and stared out at the pond, taking in the wild reeds, the ducks paddling through the brilliantly shimmering surface. “I just don’t want to lose it,” he murmured.

Sam frowned, following his gaze. “Lose what?”

“Everything,” Bucky said. He cast his gaze to Sam for a moment then flicked his eyes away, reaching for the top of the curtain. “Everyone.”

“Well, that’s good, because we’re not really planning on going anywhere. I mean in general,“ he quickly added, “not that we’re moving in.”

Bucky started to thread the lights through some attachments he’d installed just above the curtain. It was overkill. But he still felt like it wasn’t enough.

Sam gave a soft laugh, the edges hardening at the tail end of it. “Okay, man, I’m gonna need you to cut the bullshit.”

Bucky turned his head, scowling at the confrontation. “What?”

Sam gestured at him. “This pity party thing you’re doing! What could happen that would be worse than all the shit you’ve already done?”

Bucky clenched his jaw, his stomach dropping. “Thanks.”

“No problem. And I’m serious. You’ve already tried to kill me and Steve, and you’ve been kind of a dick to Val the entire time she’s been here-“

“This talk keeps getting better,” Bucky muttered, finishing the last stretch of lights.

“-so what’s left for there to be that makes you think any of us are going to change how we feel right now?”

Bucky exhaled heavily, stepping back, his eyes roving over his work. “Because if things go wrong, it’ll all be on me. Again.”

Sam froze, his brow creasing. “What do you mean again? What did you do?”

Bucky felt his breath hitch. He didn’t want to freshen the wound, but the reality was it just hours away from being ripped back open.

Steve believed in Bucky, and had even changed Bucky’s mind about a few things in regards to his situation. Steve seemed so fucking sure of everything, all the time. Loki seemed so sure of everything, too, but the last time Loki had performed a major deed to help someone else he’d spent the next five years floating through space.

Bucky had been the Winter Soldier for a lot longer than he’d been whatever he was now. Certainty had been carefully grafted into him with years upon years of dedication, and after decades, everything about that certainty had been torn down and revealed a lie.

He was still ruled by his gut sense, but he couldn’t trust it. Couldn’t trust himself, even with his memories back and the trigger words long gone. Closing in on what the coming night would put into motion was making him feel like he had the power of the universe beneath his grip again, and the more certain he felt about it, the more he thought he was going off track. About to risk - maybe not the world, but something that in his mind was becoming close enough to it.

But Sam… Sam would have no problem stepping up to tell him how wrong he’d been. Calling him out, telling him they needed to slow down and wait, or not follow through with it at all. Even if it was against what both Steve and Loki thought.

And Bucky didn’t want to tell him, because he wanted to live in ignorance. The absolute promise of a better world as long as he did his part. A facsimile of the purity of the surety HYDRA had programmed into him.

But that was how people ended up dead.

“I messed up with Stark and the Infinity Stones,” Bucky said. Like with Steve, he couldn’t quite hold Sam’s gaze as he spoke, his eyes on a distant tree. “I was trying to save his life, but I thought too hard about killing him. Rocket helped bring him back to life.” He raised his metal arm. “There’s still energy in the arm from the contact with the stones. It started flaring up when Steve got back. The thing Loki’s training for is so he can draw it out of me.”

Sam went quiet. He looked at Bucky’s arm for a long moment before he spoke. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding physical contact all this time?”

“Loki thinks he can absorb it and use the energy,” Bucky said. ”And I need him to.”

“Because it’s dangerous?”

“I don’t want to wait around to find out,” Bucky said. “I already almost cost us the war the last time I used it.”

“So that’s what it’s all been about,” Sam said. “You’re worried your history of being a stone cold killer is going to lead to more of the same.” He stepped over to the greenhouse, reaching out and fiddling with the curtain. “That’s why you’re staying at this fortress of solitude counting every single one of your crimes. That’s why I found you about twenty pounds lighter after Steve left. That’s why you’re tearing yourself apart and denying yourself food and company. I get it now; it’s really textbook for the world’s most brutal unfeeling killing machine.”

Bucky frowned at Sam’s sarcasm. “It doesn’t matter what I feel,” he said.

“It does,” Sam corrected. “Because that level of self-reflection is exactly why you’re on this side. I don’t know what happened between you and Stark, but he’s alive now. And he’s not the type to let the CEO of his company extend gifts to his mortal enemies.”

“I don’t know what he wants,” Bucky said.

“Probably to live out the rest of his life in peace with his family,” Sam said bluntly. “I know opening up isn’t your strong suit. But sometimes when we try to do something, we screw things up. That doesn’t mean we’ll always screw it up. And being afraid of losing things, losing people? Hate to break it to you man, that’s just part of living. Loving. Sometimes it happens.“ His voice fell. “Even when we most wish it wouldn’t.”

“I know,” Bucky said, directing his eyes to the dirt.

“But guess what? Other times it doesn’t happen like that. Sometimes the universe throws us a break. But the only way we can know if it will or won’t is if we stay, and we do the work. Trust me, it’s worth it.” Sam looked solemn. “Sometimes we get snapped back from dust. Sometimes we finally get to touch earth after floating through space. Sometimes your bullheaded friend from the 40s decides to stick around instead of running off again.”

Bucky glanced back up. “You talking about me, or Steve?”

“Uh-huh,” Sam said by way of answer. “Now I don’t know a lot about magic, but Loki’s what, hundreds, thousands of years old? He might have some kind of an idea about what he’s doing.”

”Yeah,” Bucky said. “I know that.”

”And we’ve been taking things slow to make sure this has the best chance of succeeding,” Sam said. “He was on his feet almost all night with Steve. You snuck out during his nap time, but when I left, he was already up and trying to charm his way into another dance party.”

Bucky looked sharply in the direction of the house.

“Don’t worry,” Sam said. “We all told him to cool it. But he’s got energy. I don’t think we’re on the wrong track letting him use it.”

Bucky nodded, turning back to the greenhouse. He didn’t feel great, exactly, but the last of his second thoughts had been successfully subdued enough that he thought he could stay where he was. “Thanks, Sam,” he said.

“Any time. You want company for a bit, or you looking to stew some more?”

”I’m going to get back to the stewing,” Bucky said dryly.

There were a few seconds of silence. Sam didn’t leave. “That night,” he said. “Before Steve got back. When I had those beers, and you…covered your arm. Was I out of line?”

Bucky froze. He looked down at his metal arm, covered by his jacket. “No,” he answered, making eye contact with Sam for good measure.

”I’d been wondering,” Sam said with a nod. He waved. “All right, I’m off to plan dinner. Good luck tonight.”

I’m gonna need it, Bucky thought.

The greenhouse was illuminated with string upon string of lights. Bucky sat on the step at its front, his legs pulled up, watching as the sun made its way across the sky and shifted the shadows. It was well before sunset before he heard the footsteps approaching from a distance.

He took a steadying breath and got to his feet.

Steve was coming up the path, flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows, squinting in the brightness. A few steps behind him, wearing his new vest and walking completely unassisted, was Loki.

Steve came to a stop when he saw the greenhouse, eyes taking it in; after all of Bucky’s work it was now even more flush with hanging plants, flowers, lights and cushions. So many lights that they reflected in Steve’s eyes even with the competing sunlight.

“You made this,” Steve said with appreciative surprise.

”Yeah,” Bucky said. His eyes went to Loki as he came to a stop, his hand reaching out to casually brace on Steve’s shoulder for support.

“A suitable site for the ritual,” Loki said as he looked it over in turn, a lot less winded by the walk than he had been when Bucky had dragged him out.

Steve glanced at Loki. “Are you ready?”

“I am,” Loki said. His gaze found Bucky’s, bright and eager. “Shall we begin?”

Chapter Text

Inside the greenhouse, Loki carefully sank to his knees, soft cushions readily supporting his weight. The walls surrounding him were mostly translucent save for the planks of strong and steady cedar that bordered them, hanging plants presenting pops of vibrant green amongst a myriad of colorful blooms. The sun outside was making its way downwards, but had seemed to become all the more bright for its lowered angle; rays streamed in through the roof and walls and warmed the interior, casting hues of orange and red across his vision even as he closed his eyes. When he inhaled deeply, the scent of flowers and mint and the earth they nestled into filled his nostrils.

Tenderly, he coaxed at his magic until it stirred beneath his skin, forming threads that swirled and gathered. If it was slower to answer his call than it had been before his long fall, he honestly could tell little difference.

The change, he knew, would become obvious during his task - when he tired too quickly, and the strain of pushing through threatened to tear through him.

But for now, he was rejuvenated, if a little winded from his walk. Well-rested, well-fed, and even stable enough to traverse slight distances alone under his own power. The muscle and tendon and bone within him had solidified to the world around him. He could keep his balance for extended periods without the crippling exhaustion and pain that had once plagued him.

He was more than ready for the challenge ahead.

He opened his eyes, relaxing his hold on the power within. Before him, Steve Rogers mirrored his position, his bared forearms presented, hands resting upon his jeans, quietly and calmly watching him. A warrior at rest, as prepared for the upcoming battle as Loki. He’d taken care at the house before their outing - showering, shaving, and dressing in new, clean clothes that clung to his musculature. His hair, too, he’d taken effort to neatly tame down, then gathered strands gleaming dark gold in the sun. Unlike Bucky, who preferred to surround himself with the scent of mint - as evidenced by his choice of bathing products and the fact that several of such plants hung about them - whatever Steve had bathed in was much less sharp, a woodsy fragrance made more obvious by its very recent application.

Loki had tended to his own appearance in kind. And for the first time since his fall, he’d been alone as he had done it. They’d decided not to bother with further pressure upon Bucky based on Sam’s assessment of his mental state and Loki’s continued promising recovery. Loki had agreed with the choice, knowing that his gratification would be coming soon enough.

“Hmm,” Valkyrie had commented from the couch as he’d exited the bathroom, dressed in his new clothes, which had been recently freshly laundered and pressed by Sam. She had glanced towards the kitchen where Steve was assisting Sam with the washing up from dinner. “You’re sure I can’t watch?”

Loki had smiled, carefully making his way over so he could brace himself against the back of the couch, giving her a proper view in addition to coming close enough that their conversation would not be overheard - as well as practice caution lest his body protest the overexertion. “You’ll just have to make do with your own imagination,” he’d said.

“There’s going to be plenty of that,” she’d assured, then gestured to the bag sitting at her side. “And the healing stones will be here waiting for you.”

“I have little plan to require them,” Loki had responded.

“Depending exactly on how much fun you intend on having,” she’d said lowly, and then clammed up with a smirk as Steve had approached to escort Loki outside.

Inside the refuge Bucky had designed for their ritual, Steve and Loki awaited their third as he performed whatever final checks of the immediate area he deemed necessary. Finally, the sound of footsteps approached the door, the curtain hanging down moving aside as Bucky and his grim expression made their reappearance. He stepped inside, looking between both of them, skirting the perimeter of the shelter where there were no cushions, before crouching down a few feet from Steve. His expression was drawn tight, the shadow of stubble darkening his jawline. But, at least for the moment, he seemed unlikely to flee.

“You should have taken your boots off,” Steve remarked lightly. “You’re tracking dirt in here after you went through all that effort.”

Bucky didn’t respond, eyes moving towards Loki. “I’ve got lights hanging over all the panels outside and inside. They’ll automatically come on if the sun goes down while we’re out here.”

Loki glanced up at the walls to find the proof of Bucky’s words, a warmth filling his chest to match the air around him. “Before we begin,” he said. “I would like to extend my sincerest gratitude. To you both.” He extended his arms to the sides, intentionally displaying the ease with which he now existed, as well as the fact that he no longer resided in a frail, skeletal shell. “It goes without saying that I would not possess even a modicum of the strength I would need to consider performing this action had you not been willing to both tolerate and nurture its return.”

A small smile formed on Steve’s face. “A lot of that was you,” he said kindly. “I think you could have made it back without us.”

“Perhaps,” Loki said, hands dropping back into his lap. “But it is also worth noting that the experience would have been one of much more tremendous lingering agony and fear.” A laugh bubbled from his lungs, double-edged by both bitterness for his suffering and disbelief that he was to be allowed from the universe to move beyond it. “You could have seen me broken even beyond the wretched state that I arrived in. Starved me. Or simply allowed me to remain lost to madness in the dark. Easily. Even now, that…somewhat remains the case.” He let his eyes drift between Bucky and Steve, taking in their mirrored frowns. “The considerations I have been afforded during these last several weeks are not something I will ever forget.”

“You’re welcome,” Steve said. “But you know we didn’t find any of that as difficult as you think.”

”I do now,” Loki agreed. In the past, he might have taunted them for it once he’d realized the truth of that. Used it against them. Taken what he could and then fled, or else pried even further use out of them to see the ends of his own goals.

He still had plans to take what he could. All that he could. Regain himself, and his power. But the intention behind it was far different than it would have been once upon a time.

Though perhaps, in some ways, no less self-serving.

Bucky gazed at Loki in silence, his shoulders hunched forward beneath his leather jacket, his hands locked tightly together between his knees. He had failed to blink nearly the entire time Loki had spoken, though the creases of shadows upon his brow had deepened.

Steve glanced over, and Bucky’s gaze was drawn to him. Loki watched as some of the tension in those shoulders eased, before his eyes cast to the floor.

“That being said,“ Loki continued, “this is not a procedure that will be without its stressors. The transfer of energy will come at a cost. I will make every attempt to minimize such cost, and with your body’s own vigor you should recover any damage quickly. Sooner if I am able to quickly transmute the energy into a usable form.”

Steve nodded again, sharply, his eyes determined as his jaw squared. He kept his arms where they were, within easy reach.

“And what about your body?” Bucky asked, eyes drifting up briefly in a flash of steel blue.

Loki would have been surprised not to face any further of Bucky’s concerns with the risks to his safety; his answer to that question had been well formed in advance. “Any pains will be temporary, worthwhile, and lead to near complete cessation of the struggles this body has undergone. In addition, such action will more closely bridge the gap to my comfortable removal of the remnant of all five stones that resides within you.”

Though he was no longer looking at Loki directly, something softened in Bucky’s expression, a wall going further brittle. Loki had borne witness to its collapse once before. And, like before, when parts of it began to crumble, there was something raw, aching, and deeply, deeply miserable waiting beneath.

But instead of bleak resignation, there was something newer present alongside that haunted sorrow - a belief, one that Loki and Steve had both struggled to bring to being, in Loki’s ability to perform the tasks ahead. In Bucky’s strength to endure it without the energies within him bringing about the damage and ruin he so feared.

This was further revealed in Bucky’s answering nod. His eyes remained down, but he stayed in place. He would hold fast to their agreement.

At the consent of both parties, Loki felt within him a very old stirring of a familiar hunger for power. Such desire had often been accompanied by desperation or foolish arrogance, both of which had no place when the current receiving of such power was being so freely offered. Demanded, even.

“First,” Loki said to Steve, moderating his voice through his rising eagerness. “I will need sustained activation of the energies within you. Which means sustained contact.”

Bucky stiffened, visibly biting at the inside of his lip as he placed his gaze further away from both Loki and Steve.

Loki turned towards him, speaking deliberately to draw his attention. “Sustained contact from you.”

Bucky looked towards him sharply enough that the few strands of hair that had not been bound back swung wildly across his face. “What?”

Steve dipped his head down, then glanced back up. “Neither of us got around to mentioning that part,” he said, somewhat apologetically.

“Perhaps, if he had deigned to stay in the house or interact with us at any great length, we might have involved him more fully,” Loki said, much less apologetically.

Bucky gazed at Steve, then down towards the other’s arm, bared beneath the flannel-patterned sleeve that had been rolled tight against the elbow. A rough swallow moved through his throat.

“I will attempt to pull the energies when they have been sufficiently primed,” Loki finished, once he was certain Bucky was staying. “While hand to hand may seem the most logical, I would like you to be…exploratory, until we find the place where the energy responds the greatest. Emotions and thoughts can have a great affect on an Infinity Stone’s power.”

He might have been remaining in place, but something was quickly forming in Bucky’s eyes, something too subtle just yet to be called fear. He rounded on Loki. “Which is why I wasn’t going to be involved in this first part.”

“On your end, perhaps,” Loki said, then sighed in exasperation when Bucky did not capitulate. “Steve is strong. Hardy. And even if you were to manage to control the energies in your arm, they are a remnant, not the full might of Infinity. I will have more control over that power than you.”

“What happens if we don’t involve him?” Steve asked, curious, but also with an edge of something heavily reluctant.

Loki could have cursed Steve Rogers and his endless polite considerations for others. “I could make the attempt at pulling the energy while it is dormant,” Loki allowed, his biting tone making it clear what exactly he thought of such a change to their plans. “I might even be successful. But the odds will increase with the energy’s activation.” Loki turned his gaze to Bucky, steeling himself against the anger presented by offering his own in turn. “This is what we agreed upon. You presented these terms. You made this place so that we might succeed in comfort.”

”If Steve doesn’t have the energy in him anymore you’ll have to pull all of mine out of me while they’re dormant,” Bucky pointed out.

“Oh, then would you prefer to be first?” Loki asked, testingly, unmoved at the rising stress presented in the hard clench of Bucky’s jaw. “Yes, that is our plan. Obviously. At that point, the added power will feed my magic. I can engage in a far more active role for the removal. You could have guessed as much. Not only that, you want it.” Loki sucked in a sharp breath. “Stop denying yourself. Steve is here. I am here. We will proceed only as soon as you take action.”

They all fell silent. The chorus of nature beyond the walls filled the space with birdsong and the rustling of wind through tree branches. In the moments that followed those sounds were accompanied by the shifting of clothing as Steve slowly, cautiously, began to turn his body until he was facing Bucky instead of Loki.

Steve calmly held his hand out in invitation, hovering midair; Bucky turned his head and looked towards it, lips parted, that miserable ache from before shining bright in his gaze. But he offered no further arguments.

Steve Rogers himself was a bulwark, although Loki did see a crack in that facade; a thin fracture down the stone tower, not enough to compromise the integrity, but showing nonetheless. When he spoke to Loki alone such a sight was not present - but here now, with Steve seeing only Bucky, it appeared.

Loki watched in both interest and burning frustration.

Bucky closed his mouth, an odd twitch spasming at the side of his face. Then, slowly, he began to turn to face Steve in kind, moving from a crouch to a stiff kneel. Finally, he lifted his eyes, managing to hold the other’s gaze for longer than a few seconds.

Something like relief came over Steve’s face; he held his hand out another inch.

These two. Loki had crafted his ability to deceive and manipulate with pride as he’d matured. Yet it still amazed him how others could be so ignorant of their own untruths, especially those they so blindly cast upon themselves.

It was just as well that he was here to give them that final push.

“Bucky,” Loki prompted. “If you would remove your coat. Please.”

Bucky removed the garment quickly and without protest, throwing it haphazardly to the side where it came to rest in a crumpled heap against the greenhouse wall. His eyes were still locked to Steve’s, ignoring the strands of hair that awkwardly clung to his face and fell across his vision. He’d chosen a shirt with shorter sleeves to wear beneath, the charcoal grey of it dull even within the brightly lit greenhouse. In contrast, the metal arm shone blindingly as a ray of sun hit it at just the right angle during his movements, plates shifting against each other as it settled back against a broad thigh, fingers curling tightly into a fist.

They were done wasting time.

“Start at the palm,” Loki said, aiming to take full use of the displayed willingness before there were any further hesitations, “and then you can-“

“I know what to fucking do,” Bucky snapped, then lashed out in a flash of metal to clamp his hand tightly over Steve’s forearm.

Chapter Text

The moment Bucky grabbed him, cool metal fingers gripping down powerfully into exposed skin, Steve’s arm lit up in cording veins of bright and bursting blue. He could see those lines spiderweb into the places the vibranium came into contact, pulsating up Bucky’s left arm alongside its own separate grooves of red, yellow, purple, and orange - evidence of his previous contact with Tony’s gauntlet. The light was intense enough that it was forcing its way through the fabric of Bucky’s charcoal shirt, traveling up beyond his heart before it broke free again along the skin of his neck, stunning even in the bright light streaming through the sides of the greenhouse.

Bucky kept staring at Steve throughout, hints of Infinity fading in and out of his irises. He tightened his grip against Steve’s pulse, then relaxed, pulling his palm up so it was no longer flush against Steve’s skin, though he kept his fingertips pressed into the paths of blue light.

In just under a minute, it was more sustained contact than the two of them had engaged in together since Steve had gotten back. There was something pouring into Steve at that realization - exhilaration, filling empty spaces, pushing aside parts of him that had started to deaden the first time he’d tried and failed to reach Siberia. He filled his lungs with a deep breath, then released it slowly.

“Does it hurt?” Bucky asked him.

”A little pain wouldn’t be so much a bad thing,” Steve said, meaning it to be a joke. “Sorry,” he said immediately, remembering Bucky’s previous concerns in a flood, stalling the frown that had been forming on Bucky’s face. ”No, there’s no pain. It feels…good.”

“How strange,” Loki uttered at their side. “Almost as if it was a predicted outcome.”

”Yeah, well, you don’t know everything,” Bucky snapped back, heat rising to his eyes as he glanced over where Loki was kneeling, giving Steve a view to the fact that the lines of energy weren’t only spreading across his skin - they were brightening.

He’d seen the effects of the Stones individually, but only a few people in existence had ever come in direct contact with all of them at once. Whether because he had the vibranium arm, or the serum, or both, somehow Bucky’s body had taken in all of that energy without being changed or destroyed by it. Except, of course, for the light Steve was seeing now.

“He might know a little more than us about this,” Steve said, a little awestruck at the sight of that ancient power flowing beneath Bucky’s skin.

That irritated gaze was just as fast to land back on him. ”About the energy from the Stones,” Bucky said with a quietly vicious edge, tightening his grip back down. “Not about how I’m supposed to touch you.”

Steve felt heat flare to his face as he let his arm stay supported in Bucky’s stiff grip, the metal quickly matching temperature as it trapped the warmth emanating from Steve’s body.

Movement sounded beside Steve, and when he turned his head he saw that Loki had edged a few inches closer to them, his narrowed eyes on Bucky.

”So touch him,” Loki said, the words a quiet challenge.

Bucky’s chest hitched beneath the fabric of his shirt, some of the vehemence leaving his expression. He looked down at the light coming out of himself, then down his arm, and back up to Steve, a swallow working through his throat. Steve could still feel the flush in his cheeks, his ears, not helped by Loki’s smooth words of encouragement.

Bucky took a deep inhale, the strands of hair hanging over his face swaying in towards his drawn breath. Then he began to move his hand.

Not the vibranium one.

Steve looked down as Bucky sought out the top button on his collared shirt with his right hand, popping it open with an efficient tug. He worked his way down, all the while keeping Steve’s other arm clutched rigidly, never letting the light forming between them fade.

A tension began building in Steve’s core; he reached down with his free hand to help Bucky along, then shrugged the shirt from his shoulders, letting it fall to the side and catch on his forearm. When Bucky gripped into his undershirt Steve raised his arm, watching the colors dance in Bucky’s eyes until the white fabric obscured his vision. That, too, settled down on his forearm, trapped by their connected limbs, until Bucky reached over with his right hand and yanked so hard that the fabric ripped itself free.

Steve looked down at himself, bared to the warm air of the greenhouse, and saw that like Bucky, the blue light was spreading through a lot more than just his arm. It didn’t feel like much, but then again, he was feeling a lot of things at that moment that he hadn’t had the chance to feel in a while. His own self-assessment was probably slightly compromised.

Loki made a low noise in his throat. “Though I appreciate your methods, the sustained contact was not exactly strictly required to that degree.”

“Good thing I didn’t ask,” Bucky grumbled, with another flash of a warning look.

Loki raised his hands briefly in surrender, then gestured at their joined limbs. “Please. Continue.”

Bucky sighed, his gaze going back to Steve, looking over his torso and the lines of light. The examination made goosebumps break out over Steve’s skin.

“Loki’s right,” Steve said, a little breathless from both what had happened and the intense scrutiny. “Would have brought something extra if I’d known this was the route this was heading.”

“I guess retirement really put you out of the habit of making plans,” Bucky said, his vibranium hand twisting over Steve’s forearm, the grip implacable. He hadn’t looked away from Steve’s chest.

”Don’t think this is exactly the kind of thing I could have planned for.”

”My jacket’s right there,” Bucky said, twitching his head towards the discarded garment.

Steve raised his eyebrows. ”Oh, now you’re willing to share?”

A twitch of a smile formed on Bucky’s lips, his gaze finally rising to Steve’s. “Figure I might owe you one after all of this. Everything you’ve done for me.”

“You did the same for me for years,” Steve said, then looked down at his arm. Remembered that same blue light swallowing him, sending him careening through time and space and back to the house he shared with Peggy. “I wish I could have figured out the right way to do more,” he admitted.

”Steve,” Bucky said in exasperation, reaching out with his right hand to grasp Steve’s shoulder. “For every goddamn second I’ve known you, you’ve always wished it was more. ” Bucky’s eyes were round, a shine coming to them that had nothing to do with the cosmic energy they were trying to summon. His hand transferred to the crook of Steve’s neck, warm and firm. “That poor bastard back there in that Siberian base doesn’t know what he’s missing.” He took in an unsteady breath. “But here, now? He thinks he’s got some idea.”

Steve sucked in a breath, and the blue light beneath his skin blazed stronger, illuminating the wooden floor of the hut. He only half noticed it, focused so strongly on the way Bucky was meeting his eyes unwaveringly.

After all of Bucky’s denials, his rigid withdrawals, and Steve’s decisions to leave - once to the 40s, and once to spend time in the world unbalanced, blindly groping for something he didn’t even know how to find…

Maybe the fact was that neither of them could be the same after the things they’d each been through.

But if what they could be, was this…that was.

Something maybe that Steve could imagine spending the rest of his life doing more for.

Like it knew what he was thinking, the light streaming from Steve intensified until it was nearly blinding him. He twisted his own hand to grasp back at Bucky.

“It seems I may owe you an apology for my previous assumptions,” Loki said quietly.

“You sure that’s good enough?” Bucky asked, not moving his hands or his eyes from Steve. The light in his own body was responding in its own way, brightening in moving patterns, revealing more and more strings of Infinity the longer Steve looked. “Or do you want more?”

”I could stand a little more,” Steve said, and then felt a new hand slide in to press at his back, while another came around to grasp at the bicep of the same arm Bucky was holding.

”Good,” Loki breathed in his ear, settling himself in close. “Because we are not done quite yet.”

Before Steve could fully appreciate the feeling those words stirred within him, a tugging sensation formed near his spine, then began warming.

“That’s your magic,” Steve said.

”It is currently seeking the veins of energy held within your body under my direction,” Loki said, the hand on Steve’s arm drifting up to his shoulder, creating a matching grasp to Bucky’s.

He felt the tug near his spine start to grow in intensity, and a second source begin to pour into his neck.

Steve shifted on his knees, his skin tingling. Bucky tightened his holds in response, holding him in place as much as keeping contact.

”Keep him still,” Loki ordered.

Bucky clenched his jaw, glaring over Steve’s shoulder. ”You planning on being the king of redundant orders through this entire thing?”

”Let’s just say I enjoy watching you obey,” Loki said. The tugging sensation near Steve’s spine began to move higher, spreading over him like a warm blanket.

He felt the first prickles of sharpness dart in a quick line towards Loki’s hand. Steve twisted his wrist in Bucky’s grip, clamping his eyes shut as that feeling intensified.

Bucky kept his hand at Steve’s shoulder, firm pressure encouraging him to stay down, while behind him Loki rose higher, his fingers grazing up to the back of Steve’s neck, the sharpness tugging upwards, like there were a hundred wires beneath his skin that were being strained back to that touch. And when he opened his eyes again Bucky was there at his front, worried gaze jumping from Steve’s face, then Loki, then back again.

”It’s all right, Buck,” Steve said, or wanted to. His jaw wouldn’t follow his command to move. Whatever Loki was doing started to make him feel like he was being stretched from the inside, everything pulled back to the touch behind him while Bucky held him forward, grounded.

Whatever was happening, it should have probably worried him a lot more than it did. But the odd warmth was still infusing his torso and limbs, and Bucky was still there, holding him, watching him.

Loki’s hands had left his neck, slowly reaching down over his front, pausing with the left hand centered over the skin of his chest. Steve felt himself curl forward as the odd tension inside shifted towards that hand, his teeth grinding at the intensity. At his front, Loki’s hands had begun to tremble, then drifted downwards.

A sharp noise broke from Steve’s throat, and when he tried to contort his body around those hands Bucky pushed him back upright with his own strength.

”Calm, Steve,” Loki said, his voice strained, his movements paused. Steve could feel his abdominal muscles quaking beneath Loki’s touch. “I am almost there.”

”You’re talking to the guy that tried to stand up to Thanos and his armies completely alone,” Bucky said, taking a moment to grind his jaw as plates of vibranium shifted. “If he’s reacting like this there’s no point in telling him to be calm.”

”In that case - I hope you are ready for a fight.”

Steve felt Loki’s hands move and then - burning, every pulling wire inside of him set aflame as they were dragged through him. He clamped his eyes shut, the inside of his eyelids painted with the echoes of swirling color he’d seen covering Bucky. The sensation got even stronger, unbearable, even the sweat that broke out in response felt like it was one degree away from boiling against his skin.

“Steve! God, finish it already!”

“Thank you for remaining here,” Loki said softly, with none of Bucky’s anxiety. His hands cupped together low against Steve’s belly. “But I must now ask you to relinquish your hold.”

The energy inside Steve moved towards Loki’s hands in a violent rush. His body tried to bow beneath it, like every single atom of him was in danger of being pulled out and absorbed.

“Steve. Steve!”

Steve opened his eyes and saw Infinity. In the next moment, he was blinded by a flash of blue.

The sensation stopped. Loki’s hands fell away.

Steve slumped, every muscle aching, his hair plastered to his head with sweat. Bucky was there to support him, cursing under his breath, slowly adjusting his hold so he could lower him to the cushioned greenhouse floor. Steve noted on his way down that the glow had faded from both of them.

Steve took a moment to breathe as Bucky moved around him, staring upwards at the planters overhead and the sky visible through the roof above them. There was an orange cast to everything from the setting sun. It all looked dull in comparison to what he’d just seen.

“Loki’s out,” Bucky said grimly, shifting back over to Steve. “He has burns on his hands. Can’t tell about the rest of him. What’s your status?”

”It wasn’t so bad,” Steve eventually said, grateful his jaw could move again, even if it felt a little like every muscle and tendon in it was complaining about it. The clouds in the sky were beginning to gather a pink hue as the sun sunk lower.

“Thought I was watching my worst fucking nightmare,” Bucky muttered beside him. “Kept waiting for you both to melt in front of me.”

Steve shrugged, then winced as a sudden pain hit his shoulders. He looked upwards at Bucky’s face, and found it still coated in that expression of residual stress. Steve reached his hand up and rapped his knuckles against vibranium demonstratively, ignoring the sharp twinges that resulted. “Looks like I’m still solid enough to need that jacket.”

A smile twitched at the corner of Bucky’s mouth, and he shook his head as he extended his arm out. A bundle of leather was dropped on his chest a second later, and Steve found he was well enough to sit up to drag it on, if stiffly. “How bad are the burns?” he asked, turning his head and freezing.

Loki was slowly pushing himself up onto his forearms with a grimace, his black hair spilling over his shoulders, his shadow cast long at his side. He stared down either side of himself at his damaged hands, his brow pinched and face pale, a weary strain to his breaths. “Bad enough that I may concede to waiting for our next step.” He slowly lowered himself back down, going limp against the cushioned floor and shutting his eyes. “But perhaps not bad enough to force a walk for the healing stones.”

”What about the energy you got out of Steve,” Bucky asked. “Can you use it?”

Loki blinked his eyes back open, staring upwards. He raised a hand up, staring at the mottled red surface of his palm. In the next instant, a line of shining green passed through him from head to toe, leaving him laying on the greenhouse floor, dressed in ornate leather armor and a flowing green cape. With a twitch of that same hand, he summoned a knife, then with another twitch, dissipated it into thin air. In the next moment the line of green light came again, returning him to his vest and pants.

”I think that’s a ‘yes,’” Steve said.

Loki dropped his hand, and Steve could see the large, joyous grin that split his face. “That, Steve Rogers, is most certainly a yes.”

Chapter Text

The warmth of the day had faded, and night around the pond was coming into full swing. A chorus of frogs and crickets filled in the silence left by the songbirds of the day, and the ducks that had paddled in the water that afternoon were asleep on the shore of the pond, heads tucked into their wings. An owl sat high and still on a branch overhead as Bucky made his way down the path back to the garden, its large eyes surveying the neighboring field as dusk progressed.

Their plan had worked. The energy from the Infinity Stone was out of Steve, and it was in Loki, and both Loki and Steve had been drained, exhausted, but they would recover from the process.

Loki was confident he could use it to get the others out of Bucky, once the burns on his hands had faded. Bucky believed him more than ever.

He breathed in the night air, felt a cool breeze brush past his skin as he crossed his property, felt the strands of loose hair around his face tickle his skin. Glanced down at his vibranium arm, still exposed beneath his sleeve. He’d left his jacket back with Steve at the greenhouse.

There was an opportunity for what he wanted for the rest of his life within his reach. He realized that he finally fully believed in that, too.

Maybe that was stupid. But as he neared the house, his footsteps softly crunching against dirt, he noticed that something in him that had been tense, fizzing with constant anxiety since before he could remember, had all but stopped.

He knew the success of what had happened that night didn't mean that what was to come would exactly be easy. And he knew that even when it was finished, there were still things he needed to answer for. But maybe he could see himself not completely fucking things up when they came around. Maybe.

Whatever the case, he’d come too far at this point to run from it.

He exhaled, heavy and long, and reached up to pull his hair out of its tie, letting it fall loose before running his hand over the side to push some of it behind his ear. Right then, all of those things didn't matter. All that mattered was that Steve was going to be okay, and Loki was… well, he’d only burned the palms of his hands to a crisp and then used said hands to do a few magic tricks. Which was a lot less than Bucky had been expecting.

And the other guests in the house, Sam and Valkyrie, were safe and comfortable. The lights were still on in the living room, and Bucky could see the faint shadows of both of them, lounging on the couch. Probably having a couple of beers.

Bucky’s garden, on the other hand… was in need of watering.

Bucky walked over to the hose, started unwinding it. He let the practiced movements of the preparation, the sound of the pipes opening to let water rush in, fill that space of calm that was growing inside of him.

The tinges of blue in the sky had passed into starlight. He stared up at them through the trees as he moved back to the fence, and thought of Steve's mural waiting for him in his bedroom. The painting of that bridge, where home had once been. Emotions filled him, and now he felt a little less like there was an expiration date for them lurking just around the corner.

The ground greedily took the water he offered, half-parched from his time away working on the greenhouse. He moved through the lines, dutifully tending to each plant individually. Started plans in his head - plans for the fall, for the winter, for the next spring. And those, too, felt like they were more concrete, instead of just distractions from the anvil he’d been waiting for.

The time stretched. He plucked some weeds and put his hands on each plant, checking for signs of pests, disease, or damage. Nothing severe, at least for that night. Even the aphids had been giving him a break lately.

He moved to search for anything worth harvesting next, and found a few onions with bent necks that he plucked free. Then he grabbed some carrots, most of which were a good size but came up so misshapen he knew Sam was going to tease him as soon as he saw them.

It seemed like everything in the garden was still flourishing, even the parts that had given him everything they had to give that growing season. The ones that hadn’t done so well, maybe he’d try his hand at again the next year. See if he could get things to stick. Make sure every day he had a bounty he could cultivate, bring inside. Prove to himself every damn day that he could do this, that he didn’t have to break things, or let them die. He could bring more to the world instead of destroying it.

Maybe he’d even consider expanding that to something else in the future. Maybe he wanted to. Sam always joked about how he didn’t need Bucky to come out of retirement, but Bucky knew he wouldn’t be turned away if he offered.

With harvest in one hand and hose in the other, Bucky headed back to the fence. Steve was waiting for him, leaning against the wood. He was still wearing Bucky’s jacket, gently lit by the glow of the moon.

"Loki's asleep," he said, pulling open the gate for Bucky as he approached. "The lights at the greenhouse are all working."

"Good," Bucky answered, carrying the hose back to its spot and gently setting the vegetables aside. He took a moment to rinse the grooves of his vibranium arm, cool water sluicing the dirt free, then turned the water off and started winding the hose carefully back into place.

A hand came to his shoulder, sliding down his exposed left arm. Bucky stilled and turned his head, looking down at that hand, curled around his bicep. The energies in his arm stayed dormant beneath the touch, but everything else in him sat up and took notice. Instead of drawing back from that feeling, Bucky felt himself not only accept it, but let it start to grow.

"Loki says he'll be ready tomorrow," Steve said, drawing Bucky’s eyes back to his face, his mussed blond hair, the sharp focus in his gaze. Looked like he was bouncing back from the magic pretty fast. "I know I don't need to be there, but-"

"You want to be there," Bucky finished, straightening up, his hair escaping from behind his ear to fall over his cheek.

"Figure it'll give me the chance to repay you for making the recovery so easy," Steve said, too casually.

"You sound like Loki," Bucky said, shaking his head and all but rolling his eyes. "All I did was give you a jacket."

"It's a nice jacket," Steve said, glancing down at it in emphasis, lips quirked as he looked back up.

"I know it's a nice jacket," Bucky said, unmoved by Steve’s humor. He turned away to grab a cloth hanging by the hose, wiping off some of the moisture from his prosthetic. Steve’s hand was still in place, easily following his movement. "I want it back by tomorrow."

The hand on him tightened, then exuded pressure to guide him back around. When they were face to face again Bucky saw that the joking smile had dropped from Steve’s face, replaced by a searching look, his brow drawing down.

“Buck,” he said, then stopped, his jaw clenching, some of that flare of frustration returning to his eyes. “Come on.”

Something buzzed through the air, tingling the back of Bucky's neck. It converged with everything else that had happened over the last few days, the relief he'd felt at knowing that his most pressing problem might soon be over.

Loki had his magic back. Steve was staying, at least for now. And Bucky...well, his instincts, all that wariness of what life could throw at him, what it had thrown at him, consistently, for the better part of a century...they'd been proven wrong.

"You can have it back sooner than tomorrow," Steve said, hand so tight around vibranium that his arm corded.

The tingling was growing worse. Bucky felt warmth, a sharp rise after the calm of the garden, more like he'd felt when Steve had turned and offered his hand in the greenhouse. Like he'd felt when he'd sat on his bed and watched Steve paint the skyline of Brooklyn, an echo of the memory of the city that connected them brought to a new time and place.

Like he'd felt when he'd seen Steve and Loki, arms entwined, dancing together in the center of his living room.

"You're really up on the modern century, you know that?" Bucky swallowed, tossing the cloth in his hand to the side. "Back in the day we'd take it a lot slower than this."

Steve raised his eyebrows in incredulity. "Are you saying you want to wait another 90 years?"

"Fuck no," Bucky breathed, then surged forward, vibranium fingers splaying against Steve’s chest while he moved them across the yard, enough presence of mind left to glance around. “Where’s the damn horse?”

“I haven’t seen it,” Steve said, grabbing Bucky to help steer them around a large tree, hands gripping tightly at Bucky’s waist to pull him in close. “We can stop if it shows up,” he charitably offered.

“We’re not stopping,” Bucky snapped, the tingling sensation in his body rising. His plans, the waiting, the not wanting to screw things up - they could all go fuck themselves because maybe he had a lot to lose but right then it felt like he was only losing it because he was keeping it from himself.

He shoved Steve back against the tree, pulled forward himself as Steve refused to let go of him, and felt the breaths between them escalate. That tingling feeling just got stronger, and stronger, until it became so strong that it felt like the very air was vibrating. Bucky hesitated with his hands on Steve, feeling a little like someone had just tried to wrench his leg out from under him. He looked down at his left arm.

A flash of green blinded him before he felt the blast, the tree behind Steve breaking apart in a savage deafening crack.

"Bucky. Buck!"

Bucky grunted as his eyes fluttered open, lungs struggling to breathe in air, his ears ringing and his head aching, nausea replacing his earlier fervor. He could feel an odd warmth tickling the back of his neck. The tingling sensation he’d felt before was completely gone.

He struggled to make sense of what was happening, hair clinging to his forehead as he blinked the grit out of his eyes. A thick layer of dirt dislodged from his body as he moved, crumbling off of him and back to the ground and clouding the air. Then Steve’s hand was at his shoulder, as dirt-caked as Bucky, red abrasions beneath that. He helped draw him up as Bucky pulled his unsteady legs beneath him, and once up Bucky could see that the leather of his jacket ripped in spots around Steve’s body, wounds bleeding sluggishly beneath the tears.

“Steve,” he said, and then froze as he saw what had happened to the area around them, his heart plummeting through the earth.

Where the garden had once been was now an expanse of charred ground. A green mist swirled within the lines of the destroyed fence, the trees in the immediate area around it broken, jagged stumps awash in bright green flames that flickered and dissipated. The returning darkness looked more stark in the wake of their intense light.

It was gone. All of it.

Every crop. Every flower. Every plant.

Everything.

Steve helped Bucky stagger the rest of the way to his feet, giving him enough of an angle to see the spot where they’d been moments before, dozens of yards away from their current position. The ground there had been indented into a crater-like formation, about twenty feet in diameter, the last wisps of green-flame still sluggishly burning at its edges.

Bucky was vaguely aware of shouting. Sam. Valkyrie. Bucky didn’t look that way, didn’t check how badly the house had been hit.

He only had eyes for the center of that crater, where a body lit with green energy slowly rose to one knee, eyes wide with horror.

Loki.

Chapter Text

His eyes saw only blackness. His ears heard nothing but silence. His body had long since gone numb. Even the pain of his injuries had dimmed.

The panic and despair, however, remained excruciatingly vivid.

He couldn’t scream.

The only thing left to him was a thread. Sometimes faint, sometimes close, but he could always sense it. It was the only stimulus available to him besides his racing, gibbering thoughts, and his desperate and useless gathering of the dregs of his faded magic.

But it was not the only thing for long. At some point, a voice came.

It seemed to rumble all around him where there should have been only endless quiet. In the moments before his mind caught up he wondered if it had finally permanently broken beyond all sense.

But he had enough of his faculties to eventually understand quite clearly what exactly this was, and thus feel the full effect of the dread that it inspired.

“Well, well,” said the voice - familiar, terrifying, and laced with satisfaction. “Still alive. Just as I intended.”

He felt the thread strengthen with the words, brightening like a beacon. The possibility of hope only made his panic worse, because he knew beyond all certainty that this was no herald of mercy.

He tried to follow it, heaving at everything he had to give, every spell he could fight to weave. In the choke of spasming lungs he realized that it would not be enough.

He couldn’t scream.

“I can feel the Stone calling to you now. You made quite the impression upon it. But even one of the sources of the universe could not avoid its destiny.”

Another burst to bring him closer, and it felt like his very atoms were breaking with the strain. He almost wished they would.

“Your struggle is pointless. Just as every other struggle that came against me was pointless. You will fade. Lost, and unremembered by those who still live.”

He tried to fight through the roaring ache within him, but he had nothing left. He would have to wait for more magic to regather. But he knew his time was limited and he didn’t - he couldn’t-

“They tried, you know. To bring their armies to bear against mine. Some of them were quite impressive. The true Asgardian, your brother and sovereign that you so gallantly sacrificed yourself to save, even found a formidable weapon with which to face me himself. He might have killed me if he’d aimed for the head. I thought his cry of despair as he failed for the final time was the sweetest music.”

No. No. No.

Please, no.

“I have one last gift to give you, even if you are undeserving of it. I will remove what you seek, and every last trace of it that remains upon me, so that you may at last give in. I hope you find rest. Know that I will be enjoying my own.”

The thread was still there. If he could just focus - if he could-

Through his desperate straining he felt it within himself. Power. Enough that - but the source was so far, the source at the end of that thread -

He felt it pulse in the space around him. Traces of the Stones. Closer than he’d thought, not on the other side of an endless breadth of stars and blackness, and he grabbed what strength he could because he had no time and this time it was not a burst but an explosion-

He reformed as the world turned to green flame, his hands slamming into the cool ground, hair falling over his panting mouth as air flowed down into his lungs. He nearly screamed with the relief of the feeling, limbs trembling as he dug his fingers deeper into the dirt, smelling earth and ash and seeing the light of his own power flickering around him as it filled his vision with more than the darkness.

And then he saw them, in the distance, moving in the shadows cast by the dying flames. Bucky and Steve. They were hauling themselves from the dirt, bloodied and coated with soil, gazes lit with stunned confusion as they gazed around themselves.

And Loki… remembered. He had not been trapped in space. Not for weeks. He’d been… he’d been…

Oh. Oh, no.

He turned his eyes on the world around him and saw destruction. Smolders of green fire spread out behind him in a long slash that had taken the majority of a corner of Bucky’s house, the ground around it still singed and burning.

He’d been not far from it when he’d landed.

Which meant that where he was currently positioned…

The garden. He was near the garden.

As he twisted around wildly to orient himself, he realized in the next moment that he was exactly where the garden had once been. There was not one trace of it left, not so much as a single leaf, or petal from a flower, or fruit borne from the ground, or single blade of grass.

Bucky’s lush patch of greenery that could have rivaled Asgard’s royal gardens was simply…gone. Loki had destroyed it.

As the flames on the ground around him began to flicker and die, Loki felt the chill of the night air encroach along with the growing darkness. He desperately sought out Bucky and Steve, finding Bucky’s gaze in the distance. A frisson of panic began, somewhere low in his gut, compounded when Bucky’s unreadable expression faded as the black folded in. Loki sucked in a gulping gasp as his own vision began to darken, and then heard movement at his side.

“Loki, Loki, it’s all right, here, here,” that was Sam Wilson, holding his phone out, light bursting forth to coat the ground in a bright stream, cutting through the night.

Loki desperately grabbed the lightsource, his lungs heaving. He shook the hair out of his face and looked up towards where Steve and Bucky had been, thinking of aiming the light their way to see them more clearly. But he soon found he was too much of a coward to move it away from himself.

“I’ll stay with him,” Valkyrie said, her hands coming to his shoulders, steady and tight. “You check the others.” As Sam darted away, Valkyrie hauled Loki further upright, her voice tense. “Don’t explode again.”

Loki’s breaths heaved in and out of him, no respite to be found for his aching lungs. “I…” May not be able to promise that.

What had happened? The garden. He’d…

Valkyrie looked around at his side, and sucked in a breath. “Yeah, think you might have really fucked up,” she said, her hand giving him a sturdy series of pats between the shoulder blades.

Loki rocked with the blows; his legs felt numb. And it was more than just physical fatigue.

Sam was already coming back to them, breathless from his quick movements. “Buck’s got a bit of a head injury, but he’s had plenty of those. It’ll shrug right off in a couple days. Steve’s in a little rougher shape. Got banged up pretty good.”

“The healing stones might still be intact,” Valkyrie said, squeezing at Loki’s shoulders. “If you want to take over for this one.”

“Got it,” Sam said, bracing his hands against Loki’s shoulders to replace Valkyrie’s as soon as they were removed. Valkyrie rushed off back to the house, entering through the broken wall.

“I can remain upright on my own,” Loki said dully, because it was true. Whatever had happened, it had not drained him enough for his body to collapse, especially now that he was coming back from his panic, base instincts replaced by a steady dread coiling in his gut. He could have aimed the phone Bucky and Steve’s way, he realized; because he could tell he still had enough power that he could have lit the entire expanse of the ground around him with green fire, if he had wanted. Again.

“All right,” Sam said, tentatively removing his hand. He stayed close. “You let me know if that changes.”

Bucky and Steve were making their way over in the darkness. Loki heard them, and then he saw them, close enough now to be illuminated by the light coming from Sam’s phone.

“Loki,” Steve said, shoulders squared, a tightness around his eyes. Still moving under his own power, but greatly pained. He’d been very recently drained by Loki’s magic, and it had likely left him open to further injury when the destruction had occurred. “What happened?”

Loki swallowed, clutching the phone tightly before his chest. “A nightmare.”

“A nightmare,” Bucky repeated, his voice flat, the shadows on his face deepening with his increasing scowl. “Like the ones you had when you first got here.” He looked furious, a line of blood coursing down from his hairline, caking the long strands to his cheek.

“Yes,” Loki admitted, gazing down at his hands, letting the light from the phone burn into his eyes. “Except…”

“Except we just gave you enough strength for your magic to really come back,” Steve finished, sighing heavily. “So it went up a level or so from the last two times.”

Loki nodded. Felt like a fool. He knew how to control and contain the power in his waking moments, but unconscious…

He’d slept too deep. And the dreams had come. And for just a moment, an incredibly critical moment, his body had not remembered it was safe.

After everything. After he’d been tended to, and cared for, without fail, for days upon days upon days.

He could have screamed from the frustration. Would have, once upon a time.

“So there’s not a danger of it happening while you’re awake, right?” Sam asked him, utterly serious. “Because I’d like a warning so I can get the shield up.”

“I do not know,” Loki answered, grinding his teeth. “Previously it has only occurred when I’ve been in a state of unconsciousness.”

“Are you sure?” Bucky demanded, eyes gleaming in the dark.

“Yes,” Loki said, the reassurance hollow. “The same as what you’ve seen. I never did this…before the fall.” What did his excuses matter, when what had happened had already happened.

“We knew there was a risk,” Steve said, with a pointed glance at Bucky. “That’s why we started with me.”

Bucky didn’t respond. He kept his gaze on Loki, unblinking and hard.

Loki knew that Bucky was likely wondering what this meant would happen if he tried to take the power of all five Stones at once.

And Loki found that perhaps…he could not answer that in the way he might have thought just hours ago.

“Back!” Valkyrie called, jogging over to them with her palms cupped together and her hair swinging behind her, breaking the tension with her arrival. “Couldn’t find the others, but I’ve still got one. Should be good for at least one major injury.”

Bucky waved his arm towards Steve. “Use it on him. His back was against the tree when it exploded. I’m going to go check the house.” He looked away, his next words a low rumble. “Or what’s left of it.”

Loki watched Bucky leave in quick steps, before his attention was turned on Sam and Valkyrie, who were helping Steve remove the jacket Bucky had given him, giving view to the gaping holes that rent its surface. As for Steve, the entire expanse of his back was a swath of darkening blue and sluggishly bleeding wounds, some several inches in length.

“Wow,” Valkyrie said, throwing the jacket aside as she considered what wound to start with.

“I’ve had worse,” Steve said, even though he was still grimacing from the pain of having the jacket removed. When he mastered his expression he turned to face the direction Bucky had gone, his brow creased.

“Yeah, I’ve seen you have worse,” Sam muttered, folding his arms. “Specifically from the guy that just walked away from us.”

Steve sighed heavily, his eyes turning to Loki as Valkyrie moved closer and pressed the stone against him. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay,” Loki repeated, the phone clenched tightly between his fingers. “You should be angry.”

“I mean, we’re not exactly happy with what happened,” Sam said. “And this is going to be a big mess to clear up. But it doesn’t sound like you meant to do it.”

“It’s just shit luck you happened to hit the absolute worst thing you could have managed,” Valkyrie said, moving the healing stone down to the small of Steve’s back.

Loki closed his eyes. Months of work, that Bucky had devoted, single handedly, to that space on the ground. The food he had cultivated and shared. The peace he had found in his tending to it.

He’d devoted much the same attention to Loki. And the instant Loki had made an attempt to repay him, he had destroyed more than he could give back.

“We should talk about the next ritual,” Steve said.

“Or maybe we should wait on that,” Valkyrie said.

“Bucky will not consent to it, now,” Loki said, resignation filling him. “And maybe he should not.”

“Can’t exactly keep you from sleeping,” Sam agreed. “But if he’s worried about what that arm will do to anyone, he’s been surviving like this for a while. I don’t think a little more time is going to hurt anything.”

It would, though. It already had. Loki swallowed. He opened his eyes. The world beyond him was dark, and terrifying. Daylight would not come for several hours.

But he could not wait for daylight. He began to rise to his feet, and found they were steady.

“Where are you going?” Sam asked, at the same point Steve said, “Loki.”

“I’m going to apologize,” Loki said. He held the phone out to Sam, who took it with a look of confusion.

“I’d wait,” Valkyrie said warningly, moving the stone over Steve’s shoulder. “It didn’t really seem like he wanted anyone to follow him.”

“You don’t have to do this now,” Steve added, his endless kindness sustained in the face of Loki’s mistake.

Loki found he could not offer the same kindness to himself. He exhaled heavily, then held his hand out and summoned a magelight, slowly building its intensity until he felt the shine pour from every inch of him. There was no point to trying to conserve his power, after all. “I will go now. Please do not follow me.”

He ventured towards the house, letting himself see the devastation that took one side of it. The room where heaps upon heaps of supplies had been stored, their boxes scattered and singed. The bathroom, where the large tub had been, steadily pulsing water out onto the ground in a viciously growing pool, condensing dirt into mud. He could see into the living room, the mural glowing upon the wall, patches darkened by drifting ash and grit. Another proof of what the others had done for him, the time and resources he had taken, and thrown back into their faces.

Bucky was not in there, nor in the kitchen. Loki listened for him as he ventured down the hall, and thought he heard a creak down below. The basement door was ajar, and so Loki pushed it open, the magelight around him burning brighter as he descended. At the base of the stairs he saw the remnants of his last magical outburst, from weeks ago, and the half-done patches on the walls that covered the damage. There was an emptiness in the expanse of the room, and scuff marks on the ground. He very vaguely remembered there having been more; more supplies, Bucky’s belongings, that he’d destroyed in his panic. He exhaled through his parted teeth and ventured into the bathroom, where Bucky had sat alongside him and offered touch and words of comfort when Loki had contorted himself into a wild escape from Valkyrie’s invasion.

Another creak came from the surrounding space, and Loki realized that what he had heard before was not Bucky but the house settling itself from the power that had just torn through it. He wondered if there was more damage unseen within its walls.

He made his way back up the stairs, slowly and purposefully. The guest rooms, he looked into first. Then he ventured to Bucky’s room, the only thing left unchecked. He raised his hand, and gently knocked.

No answer.

He should respect his privacy, Loki thought. If he wished to be alone, so soon after what Loki had done. But Loki was not patient. And now he had the strength to engage.

He gripped the doorknob, felt it turn beneath his fingers, the door opening easily. The light within was off. Loki paused once he stepped beyond the threshold.

There was a square of wood on the floor that had been removed, broken into splinters. Loki remembered it, from days past. When Bucky had allowed him to stay inside after the second of his destructive teleports, when it had been the only room in the house with working light. Bucky had kept supplies in there, a backpack that he’d taken when Loki had been placed within. He must have replaced those items at some point.

Loki stepped further inside, staring at the wall where a long bridge of cables stood beneath a gleaming sky. Steve’s work, thoughtfully and beautifully crafted.

A breeze filtered through the room. Loki turned his eyes to the window. He could see the expanse of charred ground that had once been the garden. The wall was intact, but the window looking out had been shattered.

Bucky was not there.

And, Loki thought grimly, he would not find him. Because he had gone. Taken the bag he’d hidden beneath the floor, and ran.

Loki looked towards the painting on the wall, allowing his magic to fade so the glow of it could shine more brightly. He sat himself upon Bucky’s bed, and took a moment to take in the painting Steve had made, a vision created to comfort a man always a hair’s breadth away from trying to escape himself.

Loki knew something about that. Found himself considering something similar, as he stared at the gleaming starlight scattered across the wall. Felt the growing burn in his eyes as he accepted the magnitude of his transgressions.

He’d been so confident in his own abilities, and dismissive of Bucky’s doubts, and now he found himself wondering - if he was capable of this, what else would he hurt. Perhaps it would have been better for everyone for him to remain in his frail, depowered state. Including himself.

“I am sorry,” he said to no one, and no one answered. Moisture tickled his cheek as it carved a path to his chin.

He called upon his magic to light the air around him, his stomach heavy. Then he slowly rose and, with a final glance to the bridge stretched over a glowing bay beneath the dazzling stars, left to tell the others what he had found.

Chapter Text

In retrospect, it had been a little funny, what had happened with Loki; just moments before, Steve had been pretty sure he’d been the one that was about to explode. Bucky hadn’t exactly been fighting him when he’d come out to the garden, but he hadn’t been reciprocating, either, continuing his chores like what had just happened between them didn’t warrant more than that return to the forced casual interactions.

So Steve had pushed. He’d pushed, because Bucky had given him something during the ritual with Loki, but it wasn’t enough. Loki had pulled the energies from beneath Steve’s skin while Bucky had held him in place and it had left him hungrier than ever, the frustration he’d carried since all those failed attempts at invading Siberia brimming to a peak, feeling a bit like Bucky was as much out of reach in the present as he’d been when Steve spent months in the 40s fighting a losing battle against the Infinity Stone that had carved its mark beneath his skin.

But finally, finally, - Bucky had done something about it. Changed his mind, and opened himself to the acceptance of Steve’s offer.

“Are you saying you want to wait another 90 years?”

“Fuck no.”

The rush that had followed from Bucky pushing him back had been heady: Bucky had held a solid, familiar determination in his eyes, his jaw set as he used his strength to put Steve where he wanted him, moving forward into everything instead of pulling back, hesitating, deflecting like he’d done every time before. Their breaths had been warm on the night air, the smell of earth clinging to Bucky’s clothes. The vibranium against Steve had warmed to match his body temperature, and Bucky had practically gnashed his teeth in Steve’s face when he suggested they could stop if they were seen.

Then the blast had happened.

It had been a while since Steve had experienced injuries like the ones he was experiencing in the aftermath. Loki definitely had a good amount of his power back - though what condition he was in, now, after such an intense expression of it, Steve didn’t know. He’d seemed okay enough to walk away on his own, providing his own light against the dark that had once terrified him.

What had happened was another setback. How big of one, exactly, Steve knew they’d find out soon.

He felt ready to take it on. Despite the pain and disorientation, that frustration beneath his skin hadn’t gone away. He still remembered the nearly-frenzied look in Bucky’s eyes as he’d come in close, ready to finally take what he wanted. What Steve wanted.

Behind Steve, Valkyrie shook out her hand, the last of the crumbled healing stone falling over his spine, sealing up one of the larger areas of heavy tension and blaring nerves and cooling inflamed skin. “That’s it, I’m afraid. I’ll have to head back to New Asgard if you need more.”

“That’s enough, thanks,” Steve said. He was still aching plenty, but he knew that would pass as soon as his skin scabbed over and started knitting itself back together. More than anything, he wanted to go into the house to check on Loki and Bucky; the destruction was going to take a lot to rebuild. Who knew what either of them was thinking.

Steve was impressed and thankful by Loki deciding to take the initiative in apologizing. He knew how hard it could be.

“So that’s it for the garden,” Sam said, aiming the beam of his phone light around them to take in the full extent of the crater Loki had made. His shoes crunched into a half-charred branch. “Guess Buck doesn’t need to worry about those aphids anymore. Even took out the spot in the garage where he was keeping those seedlings.”

“We’ll rebuild it together,” Steve said, the night air cool against his bare skin and the wounds that hadn’t healed. He brushed off some of the clinging dirt from his forearms.

“Oh?” Sam folded his arms, phone still in hand, a tinge of amusement in his voice as he jerked his chin. “You know all about contractor work, huh?”

Steve shrugged, wincing as it pulled at something - Valkyrie stepped back beside him. “Hang on, missed a spot in all that dirt,” she said, and then a flare of sharp pain freshened. “Big splinter,” she explained, showing Steve a bloodied chunk of the bark of the tree that had apparently been wedged in his shoulder.

“Could be a new project,” Steve said to Sam, rubbing at the spot with a grimace, feeling the heat as fresh blood welled up. “Besides, I’m an artist.”

“Okay, but I’m calling dibs on the guest room if the others are toast,” Sam said. “Not sure if the couch is salvageable, but if it is, we can move that into the basement. Plus there’s enough cushions and blankets Buck stocked for Loki that I’ll be surprised if there’s not still some intact.”

“Speaking of Loki,” Valkyrie said, an edge of worry in her tone as her eyes drifted to the porch. “Think the talk with Bucky didn’t go well.”

Steve turned to the house and saw a soft ethereal green glow standing just outside the front door, Loki’s expression was reserved as he approached, a tension to his shoulders.

“What did he say?” Steve asked, anticipating the fallout.

“Say?” Loki repeated, pressing his lips together in a rueful smile as he spread his hands. He laughed in a show of teeth, his eyes glinting with something angry. “He said nothing. Because he is gone.”

Steve straightened at attention, ignoring the way his body protested. He tried scanning the area in the dark, but he couldn’t see anything.

“Nah, he wouldn’t be gone,” Sam said dismissively, aiming the phone back at their surroundings, lighting up some of the trees in the distance that had survived with just heavy char marks. “Just check the property. He had some other projects littered around he might have been taking stock of.”

“He is,” Loki insisted, the green magic around him flaring brighter, his jaw clenching. “There was a hole in his bedroom floor. Empty.”

Steve met Sam’s eyes in realization. “His go bag.” To Loki, he said, “Any idea which way he went?”

“The window in his room was broken,” Loki said, gesturing towards it. “Though I think that was my fault.”

“Wouldn’t have thought someone that big could be that sneaky,” Valkyrie said.

“He couldn’t ride away,” Sam said. “His motorcycle was in the garage when everything blew. So was yours, Steve.”

“If he left on foot he couldn’t have gotten far,” Valkyrie said.

“Except can keep up with most motor vehicles at a full sprint,” Sam said.

“Yeah, well, so can I,” Steve said, ready to start looking for clues, even knowing Bucky’s history of successful avoidance.

“Think I’ll grab the wings for my part in the search,” Sam said.

“And I’ll grab mine,” Valkyrie added, snapping her finger in the air. In the distance, there was an answering whinny.

Sam gave her a sharp look. “You’re telling me the horse completely ignored the giant explosion, but comes running from half a mile away at one snap of your fingers.”

“Should really try putting that kind of training into your friend,” Valkyrie suggested.

“If only,” Sam said.

“Let’s go,” Steve said. He stepped towards the house, intending to grab a shirt and his arm shields before heading out. He was brought up short as a glowing hand came to his shoulder.

Loki glanced at him, and at that close range Steve could see the blue of his irises tinged with his magic, just like Bucky’s had been with the traces of the Infinity Stones. He stood tall beside Steve, still lean, but a clear measure of strength filling his posture. “If he’d wanted us to follow him, he would have asked instead of fleeing in secret.”

Steve frowned, his eyebrows pulling together, some other injury stinging on his face. “I just need to talk to him.”

“We did talk to him,” Loki said, fingers digging into Steve’s skin. “Over, and over, and over. And what was the result? He was right.” Loki tilted his head, the line of his jaw sharp. He looked like he had just figured out the answer to a difficult puzzle. “I cannot be trusted with such power.”

“He was more worried about you hurting yourself,” Steve pointed out.

Loki looked over the wounds still unhealed on Steve’s body. “And now he has been made aware of another problem.”

“We can work it out,” Steve insisted.

“We cannot work it out,” Loki hissed, practically leaning over Steve. “Because he fled. He is not interested in discussing what happened. And he should not be.”

“Okay,” Sam said, stepping closer to them. “Let’s dial it back. Yeah, maybe Buck has every right to be pissed about what happened. But I’ll eat my shield if he decided this was the thing that was gonna torch his stubborn ass back into hiding.”

“And you do not realize that he was only a moment from fleeing since the day I arrived,” Loki said, his eyes still on Steve.

“Wrong,” Sam said. “I do realize that. But this?” He waved his hand around. “This isn’t the kind of thing that would make him do that.”

“So it was the realization that my offer of help could never come to pass,” Loki said, teeth grinding. “Whatever the case, the end result is the same, and your argument is meaningless when it does not change the fact that he is gone.” He dropped his hand from Steve’s shoulder, head tilting back like the sky might have some of the answers he wanted.

“Maybe there was some other reason,” Valkyrie tried, cautiously. She looked at Steve. “What were you two doing before Loki blew everything up?”

Steve hesitated, frowning. He felt Loki’s eyes back on his face, then saw them narrow.

“What were you doing?” Loki repeated, lowly, his words clipped.

Steve didn’t answer. It wasn’t information he was going to give out freely in public.

“Shit,” Sam said, low with feeling, the light from his phone going to the tangle of shredded leather on the ground. “That was Bucky’s jacket that got toasted.”

“Because he gave it to him after he ruined Steve’s shirt during the initiation of our ritual,” Loki said.

“Oh,” Valkyrie said, eyes widening. “Oh.”

“And you both came out here,” Sam said, frowning at Steve. “To talk?”

They went quiet, all staring at him expectantly. Steve’s sigh was heavy in his chest, the memory of what had nearly happened echoing so strongly he thought he could feel Bucky’s hand on his chest.

“No,” Loki surmised. “Not only to talk.” He seemed to deflate in the next instant, swallowing hard. “Well. It seems that perhaps…I should take my leave.”

“Loki,” Steve said, at the same time Sam said, “Hold on.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Valkyrie proclaimed, stalking over to Loki and creating a physical blockade to forward movement. “If your brother gets back and you’ve fucked off to some unknown part of the galaxy-”

“His concerns with this planet are clearly minimal,” Loki said. “I’m beginning to think there’s severe doubt in the chance he even returns at all.”

“You’re staying,” Valkyrie said, smiling in a way that wasn’t friendly. “Even if we need to do a repeat performance of what happened the first time we met.”

“Is this the official decree of the King of Asgard?” Loki asked, voice dripping in contempt. “You would have me remain here and put what is left of this place at risk?”

Valkyrie rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t be dramatic. I watched you destroy our entire Realm, once.”

“Precisely,” Loki said, refusing to back down. “Because that is the pattern. Every time I seek power, something vital comes to ruin. That is what Bucky knew when I first arrived.” He met Steve’s eyes for a moment, then flicked them away. “It is to his detriment that at some point he was convinced to believe otherwise.”

“Hey, you didn’t wake up and decide for this to happen,” Sam said.

“And what I am deciding, now, is to prevent its recurrence,” Loki said, and stepped back from Valkyrie to rush off in the opposite direction.

Or he would have, if Steve hadn’t stepped up to him and caught his arm, firmly holding him in his grip. Loki froze, his shocked eyes coming to Steve’s face. A shudder, barely-there, coursed through the limb.

“I’m getting a little tired of everyone thinking running’s the best option,” Steve said, because he really, really was.

Loki’s voice deepened with anger. “Perhaps the better question you should ask is why when faced with your assistance someone would so strongly consider it.” Steve felt the words cut like they were supposed to, but he didn’t let them dissuade him, and the glow in Loki’s eyes flared in response. “You are still weakened from the ritual, Rogers. You may not enjoy what happens if you do not release me.”

Steve remembered this part of Loki. He remembered the intensity, the wild aggression, the absolute faith in his own views even as they clashed with reality. The kernel of truth in everything he said, but twisted. Harmful. Protecting himself through something wildly reckless.

Steve also knew that Loki had made a choice in deciding to help them. He didn’t completely know what was driving Loki’s choices now, but he knew he was capable of changing them back.

So could Bucky.

It was Loki that was here, now. So Steve held Loki’s arm, refusing to let go even in the face of that rage. “How much power did you get back, exactly?”

“Enough to estimate that by this time tomorrow I will have regained enough to do this level of destruction all over again ,” Loki said, the threat not leaving his voice. “Though I could perform a measure of it now, if pushed.”

“Good,” Steve said firmly. “Because I want you to do it again.”

Silence descended. The sounds of the night were distant; nothing alive had stayed in the space around them, but beyond the blast site, the world was unchanged.

“Didn’t see that one coming,” Valkyrie said under her breath to Sam.

Loki had frozen, his lips parting. His brow creased and he blinked repeatedly. “You want me to…destroy everything?”

“You told us once that when you teleported the landing spot was intentional. You were coming to me,” Steve said. “Because I was the person to have the most recent close contact with an Infinity Stone.” He held his arm up pointedly. “I don’t have that anymore. You took all the traces of it back at the greenhouse.”

Loki looked towards Steve’s arm. Frowned. Realization started to spark in his eyes.

“But Bucky does, right?” Sam asked, getting it a moment later. “So when you freaked out from your nightmare, you were shooting right to him.”

“Can you do it again?” Steve demanded, needing Loki to see his options.

Something flared and then sputtered in Loki’s eyes. The green glow of them seemed to dim. “He will not want it,” Loki said quietly.

“Loki,” Steve said, jerking him towards himself and reaching out to clutch his other arm, forearms tense. Loki swallowed, closing his eyes like he was in pain. Steve knew he wasn’t. “Trust me. He does.” He twisted his palms, and Loki’s eyes fluttered open, at the touch, his breathing escalating as he stared in aggravation at Steve. “Just like you do.”

Like hell this was all going to go the way Loki thought it was going to go.

Loki swallowed, his eyes scanning the area around him as he took in the ruined yard and broken house, like he was still trying to convince himself that leaving was the best option, but his eyes kept catching on Sam, and Valkyrie, and Steve.

“Sam’s right,” Steve said. “We don’t know why Bucky left. We can give him a day to decide to come back on his own before we follow him.”

Loki closed his eyes in resignation. “He will not,” he said, but his argument was growing weaker.

“You told me when I first arrived that you owed them a debt,” Valkyrie said, chipping in now that there was an opening in Loki’s demeanor. She stepped forward, reaching up and placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “Leaving now after you just caused more problems is an especially shit job of that, if you ask me.”

“You’re not going to get what you want out of running,” Sam said, coming up beside Valkyrie. “As fun as some of us find it to try and dodge out of processing trauma.”

Steve felt that jab a little too personally.

“Hey,” Valkyrie said sharply.

Sam looked at her. “That wasn’t-” he said, then broke off in realization. “You too?”

“Just for a few millenia,” Valkyrie said, with a sheepish look.

“How about we skip that part, Loki,” Steve said dryly. “You said tomorrow evening you thought you’d have your power back.”

“Only an estimation,” Loki admitted. “And that is not considering the possibility that Bucky will refuse to return.”

“We’ll send a phone with you,” Sam said. “We wouldn’t leave you stranded. I hear someone here has a super cool portal-making horse that can understand several languages.”

“That’d be me,” Valkyrie said. “I can also be of use if Bucky needs dragging back in the kicking and screaming fashion.”

“Kind of want to see that, now,” Sam said, nudging her with his shoulder.

“Do whatever you need to make it happen,” Steve ordered, finally releasing Loki. His palms felt cold in the absence of that touch, and he didn’t miss the way Loki looked agonized as he backed off.

“Don’t think the electricity’s going to be back up until we do some very extensive repairs,” Sam said. “I can swing for takeout tomorrow. Not gonna be as good as a home cooked meal, but we’ll rough it.”

“Another reason to mourn,” Valkyrie said, patting Loki’s shoulder before she removed her hand.

Loki stared at Steve, glowing in the dark, black hair curling softly over his shoulders. His own nightlight, thanks to the power he’d drained from Steve.

His outburst in the garden had been an accident. Bucky had to have seen that. Steve didn’t know why he had left, but they were going to find out. Whatever it was, Bucky didn’t have to do it alone.

And neither did Loki.

Loki’s shoulders slumped; the anger he carried had transformed into something nervous. “All right,” he said. “Tomorrow. I will find him.”

It was a plan.

Chapter Text

Loki was awake to see the sun rise the next morning, and feel the change in the air as the wind seemed to chill around the scents of burnt earth and wood while the light spread upon the ground. What was once simply a comforting relief was now accompanied by its own shadows - for in the light of the dawn, Loki’s transgression was made all the more clear.

Scorched earth had been cast all across the perimeter of the house, debris from the destruction spread wide, coating the ground in a much wider range than first perceived. The trees that had met their violent ends had left scattered branches and blackened trunks and splintered remains. A good third of the house had burst to pieces, frayed wood and exposed innards of metal and wire singed beyond helping even where they remained intact.

The bathroom where Bucky had tended to him had not left behind so much as a shard of porcelain to find upon the ground.

The others spent the early hours of the morning cleaning, Steve taking advantage of his returning strength to overload what he could from the immediate area, sorting the destruction into piles of what to save, and what to throw away. The latter pile was much larger.

Valkyrie took to the skies on her horse, scanning the property around the house as she had once scanned the trash heaps of Sakaar. Sam made several phone calls, cancelling or placing a hold on a handful of services he had apparently been responsible for assisting Bucky in implementing in the first place.

“New trash cans should come next week,” Sam said to Steve at one point, as the sun reached even higher into the sky. Even though he had agreed to help, Loki did not understand the continued confidence presented at the idea of Bucky’s return.

As for himself, Loki…rested, restlessly. He cleaned his clothes, and styled his hair, all through magic, a task insurmountable days prior now made nearly as simple as it once had been. He found his jaw clenching at the feeling of grief that inexplicably accompanied the ability. The feeling built, until he found he could not stand the sight and smell of that blackened expanse of ground any longer, and he moved beyond it, wandering to where the property became that wild, untamed vegetation.

He found himself seeking out the greenhouse in the late morning, where he’d been located when his mind and body had foolishly forgotten their safety.

It was gone, having left only a matching crater to what had become of the garden. Loki stared out towards the large pond alongside it, and the swath of reeds that had burned away, that guilt feeling as if it was burning him just as surely as his magic had the ground.

He heard footsteps approaching some time after, the tread steady.

“I was not running,” he announced, staring out onto the water. “You may return to your cleaning.”

The body did not turn away, coming closer and pausing at his side; Steve Rogers, placing his hands on his hips as he twisted his gaze at their surroundings, as if every new piece of destruction was a minor inconvenience instead of a catastrophic demolishing of Bucky’s resources and the gifts he had bestowed.

“Thought it’d be a good idea to check if there was anything in this area that was salvageable,” he said, friendly and casual. He had changed into a new pair of pants, the checkered patterns he favored marking his shirt. The house no longer had running water and so faint smudges of dirt on his face remained, though he’d done an appreciable job trying to wipe them away. His injuries had begun to close, though there was still a fair amount of bruising on the side of his face.

Loki could probably cleanse him without too much effort. But that would require physical contact, and just the thought sent something stirring within him that he no longer felt he deserved.

“There is not,” Loki said flatly, looking away so he would not be tempted. “I shall be a fount of pleasing news to relay to Bucky if the attempt at recovering him should succeed.”

He could feel Steve’s eyes course over his body. “I think you’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

“Too strong, or too weak,” Loki said, staring upon the ripples in the water as some insect landed upon the surface tension, unaware of the destruction that had taken place in just the spot it had chosen. “My assumptions of my own power remain, as ever, off the mark.”

Steve turned away, gazing out at the pond in kind, folding his arms until the fabric about them strained. Unbidden, Loki thought of the night before, when Bucky had torn a different fabric from him, and felt something begin burning within, coupled with a wave of frustration so strong at the knowledge of the destruction that had come after that Loki nearly choked on it.

Everything had been as near to perfect as it could develop. And now…

“Well, you were pretty accurate when it came to the ritual,” Steve said, unaware of the path Loki’s thoughts had taken.

“I already agreed to perform this task for you against my better judgment,” Loki said, closing his eyes as if that would help cleanse the images from his mind, the selfish longing that even now refused to abate. “You need not waste words on trying to convince me.”

“Maybe I’m not here for that,” Steve said.

Loki opened his eyes, and gazed at him in exasperation. “You just enjoy being annoyingly positive wherever you may find yourself.”

“Well, you know,” Steve said, shrugging an arm up. “Do the impossible a few times and something starts to stick with you.”

“Like defeating an undefeatable army,” Loki supplied. “Or lifting the unliftable hammer of the God of Thunder.”

“For example,” Steve said with a nod. He squinted down at the ground. “What you said last night, about people thinking running was the best option when it came to my help. It wasn’t news to me.”

Loki straightened. “I was angry,” he said, unsure why he was daring to make an effort at mending this. “Panicking.”

“But you’re not stupid,” Steve said, drawing his head back up, the golden hair on his head shifting with a breeze. “Something about me made you say that. So I’m here to tell you - I know.”

Loki narrowed his eyes, unable to see the end to this line of thinking. “Is this the part where you speak of your unwavering dedication in your belief towards yourself?”

“I do have unwavering dedication to my beliefs,” Steve confirmed. A sigh heaved his broad chest, and he unfolded his arms. “But that doesn’t mean I always win.”

“Both of us faced Thanos,” Loki said. “If my memory serves, you performed ably in glorious combat against him, while I watched him slaughter half of Asgard before he crushed my throat and left my body to an eternity of suspension in the darkest reaches of the cosmos.”

“I’m sorry about your people,” Steve said, softly and genuinely.

“The casualties of war,” Loki said, as if he did not remember the screams. As if the thought of that happening to Thor had not been what had finally driven him to give up the Space Stone. “A war that you won, in the end.”

“Bucky was the first one to crumble to dust.”

The words came as if from nowhere, and Loki turned his head sharply, his eyes narrowed. Steve was staring out over the pond, but Loki received the impression that he was not seeing the water. “What did you say?”

“When Thanos snapped his fingers,” Steve said. He turned towards Loki, looked him in the eyes, an old grief brimming like a shadow in the blue of the depths of his own. “He called my name. He was watching it happen. I was watching it happen.” He turned away, eyes going over the trees, the scorched ground. “There were theories that the order of those we lost came from proximity to the Gauntlet. Or that the Stones knew from their link to Thanos’ mind which people to target to cause the most agony to the survivors that had personally engaged with him.”

Loki swallowed roughly, trying to focus on the shimmer of sun on the surface of the water, and not the inky black beneath. For all Thanos’ talk of the balance of the universe, and destiny, he knew very intimately that his cruelty could be quite intentionally personal.

“I found out afterwards that he’d taken Sam, too. Then we were just watching the names pile up. Millions of people all over, never got closure. For a five year span of my life, I knew what it was like to lose when it felt like it most mattered.”

“And then you triumphed,” Loki said, his throat tight. “Your friends returned.”

“Like the biggest relief a person could ever experience,” Steve said. “After that, I thought I was done. I traveled back to the time when I’d gone into the ice. Figured I’d start over with the life I’d meant to have.”

Loki lifted his head. Frowned. Thought again of the words spoken the night previously, when his emotions had raged and he had not held onto any word with much focus. “You are saying…you left.”

Steve nodded.

“And Bucky?”

“Stayed behind.”

Loki gaped, a thousand questions filtering in his mind, because he had seen them together. The gazes. The tension. And if even a spark of that had been present in the previous years, awaiting culmination…

“Why,” Loki simply asked. Demanded.

“It was a mistake,” Steve admitted. “One that I’m still trying to make up for.”

Loki blinked. He stared back forward, going through every past interaction he had seen between Steve and Bucky. Applied what he knew now to those responses. “You would have thrown that away, to live in a time where such a thing was beyond your reach?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Steve said, but would not say more in explanation. “But you were right. If I had to guess, it’s not just you he’s trying to run from.”

Loki considered those words. He had seen how those two had watched each other, before they had begun the ritual. How they had touched, allowing the most minor of satiation to that hunger, wrapped in the protection of a necessary task. Even though he’d orchestrated the situation, it had still sent Loki’s teeth on edge in frustration.

“But there is no question that his heart desires your attention,” Loki said. “I have seen it.”

“Me too,” Steve agreed. “Kind of like the thing I’ve been seeing between you and him.” He said, looking pointedly down at the vest Loki was still wearing.

“You mean what you spoke of to me last night,” Loki said.

“Yeah,” Steve said, his eyes coming back up to Loki’s. “What I spoke of last night.”

“It is not the same,” Loki said. “It cannot be.”

“Maybe it’s not,” Steve allowed. “But I’ve known Bucky a long time; that doesn’t make whatever connection is happening between you two any less real.”

Loki hesitated, his thoughts racing. In the span of a few minutes, Steve had acknowledged Bucky’s feelings for both of them, as well as his own feelings towards Bucky. And he spoke as if Loki’s interest was a foregone conclusion in his mind.

It was. Loki felt that hunger pulse beneath his skin, the longing so thick that he had nearly raced into a future uncertain rather than remain to risk it being ripped from him any further from his own actions.

Loki swallowed, speaking hesitantly. “And…you and I…”

“Loki,” Steve said, shaking his head. “Now you’re just fishing for compliments. You already said it yourself; a fella doesn’t dance like that with just anybody.”

“But what does it mean?” Loki hissed, something within him suddenly demanding that he run, flee before they had the chance to cause themselves further regret, the promise of more suddenly so intense that the idea of it sent his skin crawling just as much as it shuddered and hungered and wanted.

“I don’t know,” Steve said, honest, calm and certain. His gaze remained steady. “But I think I’m willing to find out.”

Loki exhaled heavily, baffled at how easily stated the words were, as if they didn’t have the potential for risking further scars upon a group of individuals who, it seemed, scarcely needed more.

The situation was absurd. It was madness.

But whether it was wise, or healthy, or simply a base desire perpetuated by a trio of fools, doomed to another explosion as final in its application as his accidental attack on the garden, Loki suddenly found he did not care as much as he should. He had changed from who he once was, and he was about to throw himself blindly towards whatever he would become. That acknowledgement was as frightening as it was freeing. And perhaps, beneath that clinging fear, and doubt, there was a building exhilaration.

He clenched his jaw, coming to a decision. “I am ready. Let us return to Sam and Valkyrie.”

Steve frowned, turning sharply as Loki began stepping down the path. “You don’t need more time?”

“I do not think it is my body which impedes me any longer,” Loki said, truthfully. “If I arrive, and Bucky does not cooperate…”

“Why don’t we wait on that kind of planning until we find out exactly what he is doing.”

Loki huffed. “Whatever it is, it is shortsighted and reckless.”

“Right,” Steve said. “Good to hear you’re on board with that part.”

They returned to the others, who were sitting outside the house with mostly empty containers of what had once been their lunch. “Loki,” Sam said, waving him over. “Got extra if you’ve-”

“I do not hunger for food,” Loki said - and perhaps that was a lie, and would always be a lie for the rest of his living years, but he did not want to risk distraction or second thoughts.

Beside Sam, Valkyrie jerked her head up in shock and stopped consuming a box of noodles. “Shit,” she breathed, stunned. “Did you actually get your head together again?”

Loki ignored her, if only because he was still far too uncertain of that answer. “Sam. Phone, please.”

Sam looked at Loki, then Steve, reaching into his pocket. “It’s go time?”

“It’s go time,” Steve confirmed.

“Not here,” Loki said, taking the device and moving into the house with purpose. He heard the three of them follow close behind. “I require darkness and solitude and absolute silence.”

“Wait, hold on,” Sam said. “Those things make you freak.”

Loki stood outside the basement door, his fingers slowly curling about the knob, a surge of something cold and acidic coiling in his belly. He swallowed heavily. “They do,” he admitted. “But that is the point. If I can simulate that panic, it will be easier to seek out the thing that I did before when it filled me.”

“And how much more of the house are you going to destroy if you try to teleport right inside of it?” Valkyrie asked.

“I was not conscious during my previous attempts,” Loki said, though he truly did not know if that mattered. “I will have greater control this time.”

“Greater control while you intentionally terrify yourself into using your magic,” Valkyrie said, showing the same doubts he felt. “If you say so.”

“Keep your horse at the ready,” Loki said, fingers clenching until he was gripping the doorknob tightly. “I will not have the strength for a return trip, nor the strength to stop Bucky should he try to run from me.”

He turned to Steve, and was met with a look of stern determination. “Go get him.”

Loki summoned a magelight, and opened the basement door, crossing the threshold. He closed the door behind him, gazing around at that familiar set of stairs, the walls patched with previous damage. He could hear the others speaking softly, their voices fading as they moved away from the hall.

Loki stepped down deeper, until nothing but the sound of his footsteps filled the space, his magic illuminating the walls while his skin began to crawl in anticipation. Slowly, he made his way to the basement floor, then into the bathroom beyond, not wanting to risk even a sliver of light for his eyes to latch onto. He shut the door behind himself.

Already the shadows felt as if they were creeping in over his magic, waiting for him to slip up so they could devour him. He gave one last searching look over the bathroom. And then he withdrew the light, and the darkness fell over him.

In the few seconds after its absence, he clung to his sanity. But the longer he stood, touching nothing, the more his mind began to search for visual confirmation of his safety that it did not receive.

He swayed in place, his hands clenching at his sides, a swooping feeling filling his stomach. He heard his own gasp in the dark as his fears clamored for attention, the doubts folding in like a raging flood as soon as he gave them acknowledgment - he may have imagined a place where he’d landed and found food and friendship and acceptance but those were the imaginings of a mind long broken, and he had never left the dark, and he would never leave the dark.

The anxiety had become a screeching terror. He’d done his job too well, and now he could not remember why he was here, and what did it matter if he would never leave, if he would rot in the unknown, forever alone, because the Infinity Stones had been destroyed, they’d been destroyed and-

There.

There, the remnants. The swirling essence, faded but still detectable. A sign of life, miles away. The proof that his fears were unfounded.

He would be free if he went to it. Loki felt his body seize as he reached for his magic, inhaling a shuddering breath as he tried for slower precision and not a frantic forcing of the power, gathering gathering gathering and focusing on that distant point of Infinity before he ripped himself towards it and-

Slammed himself into a wooden floor, gasping with exertion, hands scrabbling as his eyes shot open and he forced himself upright, and sunlight, there was sunlight, and - Bucky, on his knees beside him. Bucky. He was still dressed in the dirtied clothes he’d fled in, his hair loose around his face and one hand pressed against the back of his neck, elbow raised high and to the side, his expression one of stunned, wide-eyed horror as he stared Loki down. His metal arm was missing from his side, leaving the left sleeve of his shirt to hang loose and empty beside his broad chest.

A heavy step came from the other direction, coupled with an ominous reverberation through the wooden floor. A sound from the distant past then filled the air, high and building, setting Loki’s hackles rising as his body warned danger is close. He turned his head and saw that he was the direct target of a deep red, repulsor-wielding gauntlet, hovering only inches from him. And, when he dared to gaze higher than that, he found himself face to face with a very, very furious Tony Stark.

Ah.