Welcome avid readers!

Another Avengers story is here. While it is apart of my 'universe' you do not need to read the other stories (unless you want to ). To all my loyal readers welcome back, I hope you are ready for another epic fic full of emotions ahoy and brother fluff with action from our favorite team. I would like to thank my Beta BlackMetalHeart for her hard work!

Let the broadcast commence.

"You are my son, Loki."

Warmth spreads through his heart like a thawing winter. So long has it been since he has felt this… love. A gentle caress of his cheek and he closes his eyes, leaning into the touch with unabated yearning. He raises his hand, wanting nothing more than to hold onto the giver of warmth, the one who grounds him. Yet his hand touches only coldness, and the warmth he had felt already begins to slip away. Opening his eyes he reaches out, but the illusion has long since faded.

And he is left, plunged back into the frigid cold once more.

And he is alone.

Loki inhales sharply as he awakens, snapping his eyes open from his darkened dream. He lays there, in the early darkness of the morning on his side, staring at nothing in particular. The quick rise and fall of his chest bares the only indication that life still inhabits the body. After a long while he returns to himself, his eyes slowly taking their time to absorb the scenery surrounding him. Still on his side, he drags his covered left hand out from under himself and brings it to his eyes. With his bare right hand, his fingers pull off the glove covering his left hand. The disgusting sight that meets him quickly causes him to place the glove over his long fingers once again as he holds his arm close to his chest.

Pushing himself up silently, he wipes the small droplets of crystal dew off his unprotected side and looks at the newly rising day.

He staggers as he stands.

Torn and muddied fabric falls into its place around his body as he pushes his feet forward. His skin stretches as his body moves but the stinging sensation is overwhelmed by the stiff numbness. He does not know where he will end up today; there is no destination in mind… only the need to move.

The need to continue on.

Even the small droplets of blood that trail behind him go unnoticed.

Hours pass this way and as the day begins to fall as quickly as it had risen, he manages to find himself atop a small hill overlooking the bright glow of a small town. Its' shine holds the reassurance and promise of a meal and rest. Loki continues down the hill, leaving the tall grass until his boots scrape against the gravel of the main road. He looks down at the sound in silence, and with sluggish movements, as he drags himself across the road.

He stands momentarily frozen at the edge of the town's border looking around like prey to a hunt. He watches a few Midgardians walk around before he sees a man wearing a black coat and long pants. Loki looks down at himself, replicating the clothing with a simple glamor and begins to enter the town. He is slow, taking in every detail of the glass windows that illuminate the contents within the shops. He lifts his head and sniffs.

The scent of roasting and warm fire spirals into his senses, and he lets his legs direct him to a small shop. He pauses outside beside a lamp pole and watches the Midgardians inside. He watches their customs, their interactions and eyes the plates full of food. His eyes hunger for what his stomach so craves. Stepping forward he pushes open the door and looks up with a small startle at the miniature golden bell above the door that pronounces his arrival… however, no one bothers to look at him.

"Good evening sir, table for one?"

Loki tears his eyes away from the bell and nods once. He lets himself be led to a small concealed booth in the corner of the shop and sits down with much effort. The mortal who greeted him hands him a large parchment saying she will return soon, after she fills a cup of water for him.

Loki drinks it the water greedily but not so quick as to draw suspicion, he had forgotten how long it had been since his last drink of water. He eyes the piece of parchment and, the words contained within, but does not recognize any of the delicacies. He fidgets nervously and feels out of place, unable to find any similarities close to his own understanding… as the woman returns he merely points to a random line on the parchment.

The mortal nods and scurries away. Loki does not have to wait long before a hot meal is placed before him. He leans in, feeling the steam on his face and without hesitation begins to eat. He is slow, but does not stop until the plate is clean. He continues to sit as he watches the mortals once more; waiting to see how one bartered for the goods they had taken. He observes a few mortals stand to leave, placing pieces of green parchment and coin onto the table.

Loki replicates more than double and places it next to his own plate before he stands to leave. As he passes the mortal who begins to clean up his meal he hears no objection and is relieved to go unnoticed once more. No one notices the small pool of blood, no bigger than a footprint, under the table.

He moves away from the light of the main street and finds himself in something of a town square, spying a stone bench he immediately veers toward it. Tall bushes line the edges, allowing him to be left in the dark without prying eyes. A small fountain steals his gaze as he places both hands on the bench, swiveling himself around on one leg before sitting down softly against the stone.

Its quiet here, save for the splashing of the water in front of him. Slumping into the bench Loki lowers his head in weariness.

He wants to dream of that warmth once more. Wants to feel the touch on his cheek.

But he cannot, he will never be able to hold that warmth again.

He just doesn't care anymore and his days continue this same way. He wakes, wanders and sleeps. There is nothing for him to do, and he knows… deep down he knows.

No one will come for him.

He has nothing, no one left.

But there is a longing for something familiar, for something he thinks will ease the pain of his loneliness… the seeming emptiness that has filled his core since it happened. It's the longing that propels him forward, navigating him towards the familiarity. It takes Loki a few days to gain rudimentary understanding of how mortals navigate their world, and he find his spirits lifting now that he no longer needs to walk and instead travels in silence with other mortals by vehicles. He arrives a few days later to familiarity and conceals himself in a simple and unsuspicious guise while he wanders the streets of New York. It takes little time to steer himself to Stark's fortress and stand at the foot of the building. The iron pillar that Loki hopes will be able to keep him firm as its foundations towers over him, casting his figure in shadows. He stares upwards to the floors he has seen before, and no mortal takes notice of a man disappearing into thin air.

They never have.

He reappears in Stark's kitchen, removing his guise as he looks around silently. The floors are coated with a thin layer of dust and all the lights remain off. If he concentrates, he can sense a gentle hint of musk that lines the air. He maneuvers to the edge of a hallway and peers down into the darkness and frowns. He hesitates, unsure of what to do and steps back into the kitchen.

"Jarvis?" he tests the silence, turning his head to the ceiling.

The faceless voice does not reply and Loki lowers his head, losing the small swelling of hope he had almost recaptured.

A grumble brings him out of his stupor and he holds his stomach. It has been a while since he had last eaten, and he can sense nothing around him that would suffice for a meal. Disappearing from the kitchen he finds himself back on the streets he had once tried to conquer so many years ago… somewhere he knows.

It is not long after he acquires sustenance that he finds himself sitting on another array of empty benches. Thunder rolls in the distance and Loki finds himself looking at the sky. His eyes flinch as droplets of water begin to splash against his face.

They feel cold.

But cold cannot effect what is already frozen.

Loki watches the mortals around him run away looking for cover, until there is naught a soul left but him in the expanse of the park.

It is not long until his resolve to uphold his glamor fades and he sits in the dark rain, soaked to the bones. It is in this moment he sinks further into the bench, his hands limp in his lap as he stares at the ground. The rain flows through his hair, displacing it as it falls and sticks to his face.

"It should have been you…"

He hears the words spoken so bitterly to him all those months ago chime through him anew, and Loki sinks further bowing his head.

"It should have been me." He whispers, but his voice is carried away by the roaring of water.

The rain disguises what freely falls down his face as the pounding of water muffles all sound. And Loki continues to sit in the darkness... such is the nature of an eternal life, he has all the time in the world.

Loki thinks he has momentarily gone deaf as the rain around him ceases. His mind clears as his eyes focus on the pair of boots in front of him. He slowly raises his eyes before his head follows, and looks upon the face of Steve Rogers holding an umbrella over the both of them.

Confusion and concern is clearly etched into the man's eyes but he remains silent for a moment. Loki simply continues to look at the man standing over him. He would laugh at the irony if he had the strength and will… to feel so low, that even the mortal is above him, looking down with pity at his wretched state.

He watches, with the small glimmer of hope bubbling within him as the captain extends his hand, offering a respite from the pits of despair he threw himself down long ago. Steve's lips are moving but Loki does not hear… he merely gazes at the hand before him.

Without thinking, Loki hesitantly raises his own hand and grasps onto the offered lifeline. He feels himself being pulled from his planned resting place and is led away from the park… the Captain's gentle hand, steady on his back, is the only touch he receives to direct him.

But Loki still thinks.

He should not be here.

It should have been him.

Steve enjoys an afternoon stroll; he took many back then… when the streets were less crowded and a whole lot cleaner. He even smiles as he is able to pick up the same route he used to walk all those years ago. He notes how the small shop fronts have disappeared, but many of their facades remain and Steve enjoys the time trip. Even if it lasts a mere hour.

He has taken with him an umbrella. The weather girl had advised it on the news when he managed to turn on his small TV. Stark had offered to buy him a larger one, sprouting off names in a frenzy, with a look in his eye like a small child, but he declined. He prefers the old fashioned radio, but concedes he should try to assimilate.

It isn't long before he has to make use of his umbrella but he continues to walk while others ducked into tiny cafes in an attempt to escape the sudden downpour. Steve turns towards central park to take a shortcut back to his apartment. The clouds have darkened the scenery immensely and he finds himself relying on the light posts to guide his way across. As he makes his way through a crossroad he idly looks to his side.

He slows to a stop and stares down the paved pathway at a man sitting on the bench. Steve turns his body to face the figure and frowns. He notices how the man's dark hair sticks to his face, blurring out his features through the heavy rain but it is enough indication to show that the stranger has been sitting there for a long time.

With slight hesitation, Steve begins to walk toward the stranger. It is not in his nature to leave someone who so obviously needs help, and Steve thinks it is also wrong to leave someone in the rain. He also wonders, as he nears the man, how many people had passed him as they ran for cover? How many paid no attention to a man stilled by the rain? Once he reaches the man he holds the umbrella over them both, and takes a proper look. Instantly, Steve recognizes the style of clothing before him.

He knows immediately who this is, but remains silent. He stares at Loki, slumped in the seat, with an unmoving gaze at his hands. The Asgardian is soaked through but Steve knows better than to question why he does not shiver, why he feels no cold. As he looks at Loki he wonders briefly how the Asgardian arrived here, and why there had been no mention from S.H.I.E.L.D.

Finally, with much slowness Steve sees awareness creep into the gods face as he raises his head at him. Steve stares back seeing nothing but emptiness in his green eyes and without a thought he extends his hand.

He watches Loki's brow furrow minutely as confusion sets in and Steve wonders…

How can the notion of help confuse someone?

"I'm heading home, its dry and if you're hungry I can make something." He says lamely.

He receives no reply, the broken man seemingly lost in his thoughts and Steve inches his hand closer.

"I insist." Steve presses.

And, finally, Loki extends his own hand, and allows Steve to pull him off the bench. He keeps the umbrella high over them both while placing his free hand onto Loki's back to steady him. Steve doesn't miss the slight stagger and swaying Loki presents and even his consent to be touched causes surprise to the captain.

Unlike Thor, the brief encounters Steve has had… he knows such a gesture would be unheard of. Steve directs Loki to his small apartment door. Shaking off the excess water he places the object in the bucket as he unlocks his door. He turns quickly and tries to smile.

"Come in." he waves his hand. "It's not much but at least it's dry." He says.

Loki leans sideways and peers into Steve's apartment, his clothes still dripping, having made an entire river of water down the hall and stairs. With a tentative step he crosses the threshold and Steve quickly closes the door.

Steve gestures to Loki and the god tilts his head.

"Oh, um… your coat." He points lamely at the pool of water and Loki's gaze follows. Steve shifts in his place when Loki continues to remain still.

"Do you need something to eat? I'm not too great with these machines-" Steve says lamely but stops and watches the god veer behind Steve's own bedroom door.

With a soft click the door closes and Steve is left in silence. Deciding he would rather keep his head than disturb the god, Steve makes his way to cleaning the water off the floor. Leaning down he begins to soak up the water with towels. After a few minutes he stops to take a break and his eyes catch sight of red. Lifting his towel, his eyes frown before staring at the closed door ahead of him.

Blood.

Though he knows it is not enough to be fatal, he still frowns. In the battles he had seen, it took quite a punch to see even an ounce escape Thor. But the captain wonders, as he kneels on his floor, how heavy a strike would it take to bleed a god?

He hesitates as he reaches for his phone near a side table. Nothing good would come from involving S.H.I.E.L.D. at this moment, or the others… tensions were still high after all these years.

Steve remains on the ground at a loss of what to do and decides to dial the first number he can think of.

An alert lets you kneel before Loki, a review lets you calm his tremors (your imagination chooses the situation that calls for it)

-Brought to you by the Broadcasting Service of Mimbillia-