Steve ran as fast as his legs could bear. Faster than the average human, of course, but still not fast enough. Not for him. Not for Loki. He had called Steve an hour before but he missed it. He somehow missed the obnoxious tone of his Stark-issued cellphone and he never regretted anything more.

The message Loki left was simple. An address and the words "come quickly". In most situations, that wouldn't cause the hard, sinking pit in his gut that currently weighed down on him. They'd known each other, been with each other long enough that Steve knew every nuance of Loki. He could hear the subtle difference in his tone when he left that message. It wasn't as calm as it was made to sound. Steve could hear the fear once he scraped the top layer away and that fear infected him with the ferocity of a rabid, single-minded animal.

The streets and people around him were a blur. They melted together in a sea of colors like a child's painting. He only thought of the address, and kept saying it over and over in his head like a mantra, calculating the quickest route there. He ran and he ran but it still didn't feel fast enough.

Steve pushed himself harder. His body cut through the air like the sharpest of blades and sweat dripped from his pores like rain. None of that deterred him. He only needed to get to Loki, to help him before… Any option other than being there on time was too much for his mind to handle.

His lungs and legs felt consumed by fire as he rounded the last corner and his destination pulled into view. The five-story building was old, made of blackened and crumbling brick. The windows were poorly boarded up as if done in haste and the chipped, metal front door leaned forward on one hinge as if it were sick and retching.

He approached the door with caution, unaware of what dangers lie within. He held his shield, as always, but walking blindly into a dangerous situation was never ideal. He pushed the door open with his elbow as quietly as he could manage and walked into the dark building, shield first. His eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness, a perk of the serum, and he scanned the immediate area to find it clear.

He appeared to be in a lobby of sorts, whether it was for a hotel, apartment building, or business, he couldn't tell. The tiled floor was cracked with chunks missing in places, the semi-circular front desk had been heavily struck on one side, caving in on itself, and the whole room, and building, he assumed, was covered in a thick layer of dust. However, the dust had recently been disturbed by a series of footprints, shuffling both to and from one specific point.

The pit in his stomach increased in density, pressing down harder and making him feel like he might be sick. He inhaled deeply, the cool, slightly musty air temporarily calming his nerves. Loki is fine, he told himself. He is a god. It's hard to kill a god. He forced himself to step forward in pursuit of the tracks and followed them across the floor with lead feet that swiped through the dust, leaving behind wavering lines rather than footprints.

They led to a door on the other side of the lobby that was left slightly cracked open and had a scarred wooden face as if hit with an axe. He pushed toward it, feeling like a snail wading through molasses, but made it there quicker than he expected to. He pressed the front of his shield to the door, stole another deep breath, and pushed it open.

Steve's calming breath caught in his throat and his shield slid from his arm, clattering to the floor with the reverberation of church bells. Soon after, he fell too, his burning, tired legs giving out on him under the weight of pure agony. In the middle of the empty room, covered in dust with poorly boarded windows that leaked in light like water through pinholes, lay Loki in a crumpled, unmoving heap.

After seconds that felt like hours, Steve crawled toward him, stopping just in front of the body. A small pool of blood surrounded him, crowning his head like a halo. A strangled noise escaped from Steve's lips like a mix between a gasp and a sob. He pulled Loki into his lap, cradling his head in his arm. With a shaky hand, he brushed away the blood-matted hair from his pale, slack face as the tears started to run down Steve's cheeks.

"Sorry I'm late."