Corruption.

It made Steve's skin crawl.

It made his blood boil.

The institutions he'd once held as the paradigm of morality were now betraying him, one by one. Executives that took money from institutions for themselves, soldiers that had fun torturing prisoners, humiliating them and then taking pictures with the poor souls. Cops that let their friends go even when they knew they were guilty, soldiers that treated their fellow female coworkers poorly, bought judges, inspectors who framed innocent people just to get more cases closed. And it was everywhere, the stink of corruption.

That particular day Steve had seen some officers going after an unarmed kid, claiming that he looked suspicious. Such a prejudiced bunch. What was suspicious was how they never went after white rich kids from the good neighborhoods. Apparently being from a lower class or from the wrong side of town was enough to make you look suspicious.

injustice.

injustice that came from the very people that were supposed to deliver the opposite. It made him sick. And it made him angry.

And angry was Steve when he found him.

In a dirty dark alley, a tall man with torn clothes and teary eyes. He had his back against the wall and his arms protectively around his stomach. His black hair was dirty and it hurt him to even to think. It hurt to exist. He was a failure.

When he first arrived on earth, it was late night and Loki appeared in a very bad neighborhood. The locals made fun of his clothes and his way of speaking, and beat him up with baseball bats and american fists, leaving him in the verge of unconsciousness and wearing only his undergarments. Loki, unused to the weakness of his new mortal body and still trying to get use to the absence of magic was an easy prey. By the time he put his thoughts together, he was badly wounded.

He passed out on the street, between gang fights and junkies.

Some policeman found him.

He didn't like how much this guy looked that terrorist from a few years back, but he liked dealing with SHIELD and homeland security even less. Besides, he doubted the face of Loki of Asgard could swell that much. So he just gave the guy some clothes from lost and found and told him to leave his station, stat. He also advised him not to run into agents of the law again, or else he would be dead before anyone from his planet had the time to say anything. And they would make an spectacle of his death, too, like they did with other dictators. Say this was the good guys winning. Say people should be proud. Probably leak pictures of his dead body so people could celebrate.

The man seemed slightly sympathetic, so Loki told him he was hurt, and that his wounds weren't healing. He didn't know what to do.

The man told him he doubted he would get any medical attention without money and documentation, but gave him the address of some places of charity.

Charity.

He who had been a prince and a god.

But the days passed and he was hungry, oh so very hungry, and none of the more dignified places would accept him, with his cheap clothes, untreated injuries, dirty hair. They suspected him of being there to steal, or simply said that filthy people like him were not accepted in the establishment. The dirtiness had become an issue after the gang that beat him up left him on the dirty floor when he passed out.

So he he ended up going to a soup kitchen, (he, who had been a god and a prince) hoping some food would clear his mind. He had some soup while everybody looked at him with condescension.

Before he was over, a man recognized him and beat him up. Again. Screaming that because of him he was homeless, because of him he had nothing. The owner of the place threw both of them out, told them never to come back. Loki's wounds were acquiring a very nasty appearance. He slept in a park the next couple of days, and ate the leftovers of hot dogs and pop corn.

His mind was every day more foggy, clouded by hunger and loneliness and the ever-worsening fever from his infected wounds. He tried cleaning himself in a fountain, but he was thrown out.

Crazy hobo, get out of there.

He, who had been a prince and a god.

One night, a man opened his car door while he was walking down a street, told him to jump in. Loki thought he had finally found a good soul, someone who had seen his tragic state and wanted to help. But then the man asked what his fare was, and drove to a deserted corner. Loki understood a little too late that this man meant to have sex with him for money. Meant to defile him, he, who had been a prince and a god. But when he told the man he wouldn't, the man, obviously drunk, got violent and hit him in the face. Said he was going to have him want it or not.

You're too pretty not to fuck. He said. And I'm in charge here, little pretty.

He punched Loki in the stomach, leaving him breathless. Loki was desperate now - there was no way he could out power this man, not in his weakened state. There were tears in his eyes, tears of pure misery. He couldn't let this man do that to him, but he was locked in that car and felt defenseless. He hated it, hated his body, hated this place and hated all the misery life kept throwing at him. The man's hands were sweaty and hurt. It hurt so fucking much.

In one last desperate move, Loki searched for the way to unlock the doors and found it. While seeming apparently resigned to take what was coming to him he waited for a moment. His moment. While the man was busy undoing his pants, Loki quickly got out, and ran. Ran for his life. Ran because he knew what was coming to him if he didn't- Ran and ran and ran. He'd always been quick. He realised now that if he hadn't been... Well, better not to think. When he was sure of having lost the man, he sat on an alley, with his back on the wall.

And there he was, on a dark alley, trying not to weep, hungry, thirsty, broken. He, who had been -

He, who was finally getting what he deserved. He, who was a shadow of who he used to be. He, who was being shown how worthless he was.

The Captain saw that the man he had found was in a wretched state.

And then he recognized him. Loki.

But he looked almost nothing like himself. His face was swollen - one of the eyes was swollen shut and his bottom lip was cut in several was incredibly pale, except for a slight fever flush that was almost completely covered by the dirt on his face. He held himself limply and was obviously in pain. He was only wearing some old and torn khaki pants and a holed up cotton black shirt. He was shivering, but Steve couldn't know if it was because he was sick or because he was cold. The evil intent and the superiority were gone from his eyes. The was only misery left. And pain. So much pain.

Steve was rooted to the spot, frozen, speechless. He really didn't know what to do. He'd wanted to help the poor soul before he realised who he was - but now he wasn't so sure. He simply didn't know what to do.

After a while, recognition dawned in Loki's glassy eyes, too.

"Captain... have you come to arrest me? I regret not having any flashy moves this time, then."

"What happened to you?" Asked Steve. He wanted to know before making any decision.

"Well, Captain, I was punished to come to this planet... without my magic and my power...and" Gosh, speaking so many words together was harder than Loki had thought. "I am nothing but an unidentified homeless person with no money. Your city doesn't have the kindest of treatments with that sort of people."

"You mean... civilians did this to you? New Yorkers?"

"Yeah, some young civilians... and some police officers ... a couple of shopkeepers... another, what was the term... hobo? And a man who... well, another man."

His eyes were sad as he kept speaking. It was good to have someone who listened, even if it was an enemy that would probably send him to his death.

"People don't believe it when I say I am Loki anymore. They think now I'm a crazy homeless person. At least you believe me, do you not, Captain? Even if you will send me to death at the hands of your justice. At least, I'll die with my name."

Steve thought about it, while letting Loki speak.

"They will make a good show of it, too. Of my... execution. And they will make you... the hero, the american hero that... that stopped the dangerous terrorist and brought him to the good guys... who very deservedly sentenced me to death. But I guess death will be... better than this."

Steve looked at the man, barely able to move, but still speaking, still thinking. Another person would have already given up. But Loki was still there. Still bitter.

He wasn't surprised. From what he heard, when Thor was in the same situation he got shelter, food and company. But Thor appeared in a small town, not New York. And New York had abused Loki - used him as a punching bag, as the butt of a joke. Part of Steve wanted to make up for it, show Loki that there was more to New York than that, more than gangs and corrupt cops and people who told him he was nothing but a crazy hobo.

"So, you don't have any of your powers?" Steve asked, trying to be as cautious as possible.

"If I did, do you think I... would've allowed myself to be in this situation?"

"Probably not."

"Captain, I've had mortals pit on my face. Trust me, if I had only... traces of my magic I would not be this dirty... But I am weak. An easy prey."

That was true. He'd been an easy prey for all the scum that roamed on the streets of the city. And they had taken advantage of it. All of them. They attacked.

As they would if he handed Loki over to Fury, Steve was sure. They would interrogate him and possibly torture the guy if they didn't get the answers they wanted. And yes, why not, make a show of Loki's trial and execution, probably one of the fastest of the last years. They would win.

And that day Steve didn't want them to win.

Maybe it was a temporary thing, maybe he would regret it later - but at that moment he didn't want to turn Loki in. Now, he would take him to his own prison, a place with morals, a place where prisoners were fed and bathed, were they could keep their dignity like every human should. No torture, no humiliation.

A place were American values were respected. His place. His house.

"Loki, can you walk?"

"I can try. Why, were do you mean to take me?"

"My home." Loki frowned. Why would the Captain do such a thing? "Let's just say I'm angry with my bosses, and helping you might help me get back at them."

So Steve held out a hand, and Loki hesitantly took it, trying to get up.

Two hands entwined, one dirty, one clean.

Two smiles.

They felt like two rebels.

A/N: Had this an ao3 but I don't do well having various accounts. Hope you liked, and don't worry and I have Torment and Hospitality almost ready to update too. :)