A/N: This is the first fic I've posted, so please leave some reviews with advice, opinions, critiques, etc.! Try not to completely crush my spirit if you do.

Disclaimer: Much as I love them, sadly I do not own any of these characters.

Baby-sitting the God of Mischief was the last thing Steve wanted to do that day.

It really wasn't fair. He hadn't done anything wrong. He hadn't created a deranged killer robot, or brought a giant metal death machine to New Mexico, or made a nuclear deterrent out of glowing blue space tech.

And yet he always seemed to be sucked right into whatever planet destroying mess was about to… well, destroy the planet. After the experimentally mutilated Nazi tyrant, the alien invasion over New York, the world conquering parasite organization, and the psychotic apocalyptic android, Steve felt 100% done. For once, he wished he would be called on to handle something normal, like a human terrorist cell, or some nice mortal serial killers.

Which just goes to show exactly how weird Steve's life had become.

Needless to say, when Steve opened his apartment door at 2 AM to find the insane Asgardian trickster, he was not at all pleased. He was a lot of other things: shocked, angry, apprehensive, tense- but pleased was definitely not one.

For a second after opening the door, Steve was simply too stunned to do anything. His mouth gaped open and for the brief moment of shock his eyes took in Loki. The god looked terrible. His hair was messy and hung across his gaunt face in filthy tangles—not at all the smooth, slicked back style he had sported the first time they met. He wore what looked like his typical garb of green and black—except this time it was torn and hung in tatters over his thin frame. His wide eyes were an overly bright green, underlined with dark shadows on his pale face. Steve's eyes were drawn to the most startling change in Loki's appearance. In the center of his stomach, obscured by a dirty, gnarly hand was a stain of dark crimson. The wound was covered with an improvised bandage made from a grimy white t-shirt, which could not possibly be sanitary.

Despite Loki's messed up appearance, the first thing Steve did upon recovering his wits was slam the demigod against the nearest wall. He was not about to be tricked by whatever magical illusion Loki had cooked up.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he snarled, hand moving to draw the knife he thankfully was in the habit of carrying around. Not that it would do much good against an Asgardian, but it made Steve feel better.

Loki smiled, albeit in a rather exhausted and pathetic way. "I hope I'm not intruding, good Captain?" he purred, voice strained yet still impressively smooth. "As you may see, I have run into a bit of a spat." He grimaced, gesturing vaguely at his bleeding wound.

"What, you think I'm an idiot?" Steve growled. "Like you're actually injured. Why are you here, Loki? What's your play?" It wasn't that Steve expected Loki to actually tell him anything. Really, he just wasn't sure what to do otherwise. Steve had fought Loki before, and it hadn't exactly gone over well. And that was when Steve had his shield and was prepared to fight. If Loki really wanted to, he could take down the Captain right now, assuming this "injured" game was just an illusion, which it obviously was. What Steve really needed to do was contact the other Avengers, and let them know their favorite God of Mischief had returned. At the same time, he certainly wasn't going to let Loki wander through a building full of civilians unwatched. Which left him in a bit of a dilemma as to what to do.

"There's no play." Loki said simply, his sly sarcasm vanished. "It is a rather long story, and not one I am inclined to repeat, especially not to you. I—I know I am not owed anything by you. But I need help, badly. And I have nowhere else to go."

"Bullshit."

"Language, Captain."

Steve's scowl deepened at the reminder of the rather infuriating inside joke Loki had stumbled upon.

Loki sighed. "I get that I'm the last person you want to see. Trust me, the feeling is mutual. But I'm not here on some mission of world conquest or planetary subjugation. If I was, the last thing I would do is waltz right up to the enemy's door and declare my return."

Steve arched an eyebrow in skepticism. "Yeah, what kind of idiot would get himself purposefully captured in order to manipulate and destroy his enemies from the inside?"

Loki frowned. "Okay, fair enough. But that's not the case this time. As far as I'm concerned, you can keep your paltry little planet. I have far greater concerns weighing upon me. I swear, I mean you no harm."

"Prove it."

"Is the gaping wound in my chest not enough?"

Steve snorted.

"Apparently not. Look, I wish I could offer you some evidence, but there really isn't much. Hard to prove something when everyone knows you can just magic up whatever illusion you want. But call your little Avengers if you wish. Keep me in your line of site at all times. I really don't care. All I know is I need to get some aid, and soon, or I'm not going to like what comes next. And this is the only place I can think of to get it."

A few seconds passed while Steve glowered. "Give me one reason I should help you," he finally said.

Loki smiled softly. "Because if you don't, I'll die. And I don't think you're one to let anyone die if you can help it, no matter how villainous they might be. It's why I came here. I'm gambling on your righteousness, Captain… and I don't think I'm wrong."

Damn it. Steve hated it when villains were right.

Besides, his whole dilemma was needing to monitor Loki while calling the Avengers, and here Loki was offering to allow him to do that exact thing. It would be rude to decline fate's kind gift.

With one last glower, Steve released the front of Loki's shirt, stepping back. "Get inside," he sighed, a headache already forming in his skull. Since when did he become a go-to home for imperiled super-villains?

It was as if Loki couldn't help the smirk that crossed his face at his victory. He limped into the apartment and Steve followed, closing the door after a quick glance to ensure they remained unnoticed.

This was going to be a long night.

Steve couldn't help but be a little pissed that the first thing Loki did upon entering the apartment was make a beeline straight for the couch and flop down. Sure it wasn't the nicest couch, but he still didn't want evil Asgardian blood all over it. However, beyond his mild annoyance, Steve couldn't help but feel a bit surprised. Loki really did look pretty exhausted. He lay down and closed his eyes as though he had just run a marathon through the desert, and the soft couch was a blissful oasis. Steve frowned slightly, before remembering that this was probably all a trick, anyway.

Steve snatched up his cell phone, dialing Avengers Tower. Tony didn't pick up, but fortunately F.R.I.D.A.Y. did, and the A.I. took his message, assuring him she would deliver it to Tony ASAP, no matter how much he begged to sleep. Since most of the Avengers were residing at Avengers Tower, Steve felt confident they would all get word. He also sent notice out to S.H.I.E.L.D, who promised to immediately prepare a plan and facility for containing Loki, as well as contact Thor and ensure backup was dispatched to Steve's place right away.

Steve pictured with some dark amusement the panic that must be occurring at S.H.I.E.L.D. at this moment. The demolished organization had just got its feet back under itself, and now it was expected to deal with a threat it could barely stop while at its full power. He could practically hear the stress ridden phone calls, the tense scurrying of agents back and forth among the large facility, and most distinctly, Nick Fury's irritated "Son of a bitch!" when he got the bad news. It almost made Steve smile, and then made him feel immediately guilty for his humor. This was by no means a funny situation.

Closing the cell phone with a quick snap Steve glanced once again towards the worn out demigod. Loki was curled up into a ball on the couch; eyes closed tight, his limbs twitching as though he were having a nightmare. Steve cautiously approached his strange guest, coming to kneel right next to the prone villain. Some threat, Steve couldn't help but think. Of course, he knew Loki was a danger no matter how vulnerable he seemed to be. Still, he didn't miss the irony that all of the stress and panic certainly occurring at S.H.I.E.L.D. was for a guy who'd crashed within ten seconds of entering the apartment.

Once again, Steve's eyes were drawn to the wound in Loki's side. Could Loki maintain an illusion even when he was asleep? Was he really asleep or was he just pretending? Nevertheless, the gash looked pretty bad; blood had soaked through the makeshift bandage and it could not be hygienic to put that filthy shirt on an open wound. Steve thought of the sterile bandages and alcohol he had stashed in the laundry room.

Damn it.

Fetching the medical supplies, Steve returned and carefully unwound the shirt from Loki's torso. He expected Loki to wake up and was quite surprised when he just slept along. With the "bandage" gone, Steve could clearly see the injury. It definitely looked infected, and the veins around it were dark. Steve had no idea how long ago Loki had been injured (assuming that was even the case) but the wound looked pretty recent and unhealed. Wasn't Loki supposed to have some kind of super regeneration powers?

Steve quickly cleaned and dressed the wound, expecting at every second for Loki to wake, but he never did. By the time he was finished, Steve was in a thoroughly annoyed mood: he was not paid to play nurse to crazy super-villains. He was further irritated by his inability to allow Loki's wound to just fester. Not that he disliked his tendency towards compassion; in fact, it was his most prized quality. He was just disconcerted by how predictable and easy to manipulate it made him. Really, how was it that the murderous alien that attacked New York thought it was perfectly okay to just show up at Captain America's home and crash on his couch? Not to mention receive medical assistance. Was Steve really that soft?

The Captain sighed, dropping onto the chair and rubbing at his forehead. He was definitely going to need some kind of vacation after this. Do superheroes get vacation time? Probably not.

Glancing at the clock, Steve noted that cleaning and dressing Loki's wound had taken about 30 minutes. He wasn't sure how long it would take the Avengers to reach DC, but he imagined Ironman at least could cover the distance in less than an hour. Then again, who the hell knows how long it will take to even get Tony off his butt to leave. Steve thought about it for a second, and decided that it would be at least another half an hour before he could expect any backup.

Steve decided that restraining a sleeping super-villain for thirty minutes wasn't the worse task he has had to accomplish. As long as Loki stayed unconscious.

In accordance with the rest of Steve's luck, Loki awoke about 10 minutes later. How it was he slept straight through alcohol on an open wound one second and then woke up naturally the next was beyond the Captain. He supposed it must have been some kind of freaky Asgardian pain tolerance.

When Loki first awoke, he examined the fresh bandages on his wound with a peculiar, blank expression on his face. For a second it almost seemed he was about to say something, and Steve prayed fervently he wouldn't. Thankfully, he didn't. A couple of seconds later the strange expression left Loki's face and he returned to his annoying, sarcastic self.

"What is the delay Captain? Your man of iron stuck in traffic?"

Steve frowned. "We don't exactly have instant teleportation here on Earth. Sorry if that's primitive of us. Don't worry though, they'll be here soon."

"Oh I'm sure" breathed Loki. "In the meantime, I'm rather hungry. It's been a couple weeks since I've eaten, and the hunger is truly starting to gnaw at me."

Steve stared at the demigod incredulously. "A couple of weeks since you've eaten?"

Loki shrugged. "Well not quite. I stole a sandwich from some mortal when I first landed on Midgard."

"Okay, but still. Two weeks? How are you even alive right now? You know what, don't answer that. Let me guess: Asgardians don't require food as frequently as mortals?"

Loki smiled. "Now you're beginning to catch on Captain. My body isn't nearly as weak or dependent as you mortals'. Although let me say, two weeks? Still a long time to not eat. Just saying. So, how about you go bring me some of your Midgardian food?"

Steve flushed, a surge of indignation arising in him. "You've got to be kidding me. You've already invaded my planet, commandeered my apartment, and ruined my couch. I am not getting you food!"

"It was worth a shot." Loki slowly dragged himself off of the couch and stood up. It took awhile. Even as he strode towards the kitchen, he looked like he could barely walk. Steve snorted. What a drama queen.

In about five minutes Loki strode back into the living room with Steve's leftover Chinese food and sat once more upon the couch, this time managing to not fall asleep immediately. "I must admit, for all of the faults and inadequacies of Midgard, your cuisine is certainly not one of them. Far more interesting and diverse than on Asgard. All they eat there is roasted meat and bread."

"I was planning on eating that."

"'The best laid plans of mice and men oft go awry'" quoted Loki.

Steve raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Uh, okay. And how exactly do you know Steinbeck?"

Loki laughed, "That's not Steinbeck. It's from an old Midgardian poem. John Steinbeck named his novel after the line from the poem."

Steve stared at the demigod, and Loki shrugged. "I have lived over a thousand years, Captain. That's a lot of time to have on one's hands. I have rather a bit of knowledge on a diverse array of subjects, one of them being the literature of many realms, including Midgard. I took a particular interest in it about a few decades ago, and read quite a few of your mortals' 'classic' works. I admit, I was very impressed with Shakespeare. 'Tis no wonder his works are still so prevalent."

Steve continued to stare at the trickster, this time in surprise rather than skepticism. He had known that Thor and his brother were several centuries old, yet it was always rather astounding to hear a thousand year life mentioned as casually as the weather. And they're both still so young, thought Steve. Even more surprising was Loki's confession to liking Midgardian literature. He had always assumed Loki scorned every aspect of Earth, his self-important sense of superiority preventing him from seeing the planet as anything other than a puny world to be conquered. Sure, he was still an arrogant, conceited jackass, but there was something bizarrely sensitive and unassuming in the mental image of Loki reading Of Mice and Men.

"What?" Loki snapped, and Steve realized he had been staring at the demigod like an idiot.

"Nothing."

Silence descended upon the room, but Steve couldn't help but notice that Loki seemed a lot more annoyed than he had just a few minutes ago. Steve glanced towards the clock; Tony and the others couldn't be that much farther away. As Steve glanced back absentmindedly at the wall, a detail that had been gnawing at him, noted but discarded, crept to the foremost of his mind.

"You and I both know that there is nothing we can do for you that you can't do yourself." Steve glanced towards Loki, searching for a reaction.

"Hmm" was the only response he got, Loki's eyes unfocused and distant.

"You're not here for help. If you really needed that you could have gone to Asgard. I'm sure they have a hell of a lot better medical technology than Earth does."

Loki turned his emerald eyes upon Steve, realizing that the Captain wasn't going to let this topic go. "Perhaps I considered going to Asgard, but decided that spending an eternity in a mind-numbing cell wouldn't be very fun."

Steve's eyes narrowed. "Oh, you mean the cell you're supposed to be in right now? That's another thing, how did you even escape?"

Loki laughed sharply, bitterness and dark humor clouding his voice. "Now the answer to that question is quite interesting. Would you believe me if I said your precious buddy Thor let me out?"

Steve doubted his eyes could get narrow any further. He was practically squinting at this point. "No," he said bluntly. "Unless you explain."

Loki waved a hand dismissively, voice infused with exasperation. "I'm in no mood for such tales. It really is an exhaustingly long story. But rest assured, good Captain, my brother had his reasons of nobility and necessity and all of that other nonsense swimming in his head. 'The lesser of two evils' I believe you mortals call it."

Steve didn't really push the subject. He was sure whatever story Loki was taunting him with he could get from Thor soon enough. Right now he had a more important question in mind.

"Okay, so you didn't want to be locked away in Asgard. What the hell do you think is gonna happen to you here? We're just gonna give you a band aid and a lollipop and send you on your merry, psychotic way?"

Steve expected a quick response, some logical story invented and rehearsed to perfection. A motive, an intention, clear cut and sensible reasons for his actions. He definitely did not expect Loki to sit there with a distressed concentration upon his face, as though he were quickly trying to think up a tale. Steve waited while Loki sat in silence, gears clearly turning in his head. It wasn't that Steve was surprised that Loki was making everything up. What was unnerving was that he didn't seem to have prepared his story at all. He was pretty much making it up on the spot. And while Steve didn't know Loki very well, he knew enough to be aware that this was quite unusual for the trickster. Loki was a planner, a schemer; he wouldn't put himself into a situation until he had the upper hand, was in control—unless he was desperate.

As if the whole situation wasn't convoluted enough.

Finally Loki spoke. "It is a whole lot easier to escape imprisonment on Midgard than it is on Asgard."

Steve didn't miss a beat. "So you intend to use us then run off again?"

"…pretty much. Don't pretend to be surprised, using people is kind of my thing."

Loki smirked, but Steve just stared straight and unflinchingly at him. When he spoke his voice was ice, sharp and merciless and without a trace of sympathy.

"I'm not an idiot Loki. You're planning something; it's in your nature. I don't know what it is, but I'm going to find out, and I'm going to stop you."

He had to be planning something. There was no way he thought he could come, weary and injured, to the Avengers, the most powerful force on Earth, the team that had already defeated him and an entire army of aliens—and then receive medical assistance and waltz out without a hitch. Loki was far too cunning, too devious. There had to be a twist, a plot, something Steve couldn't see now but something he damn well will search for until he finds it. He opened his mouth to continue, but the words died in his throat.

Steve struggled to place the look that had come over Loki's face. It wasn't his typical sarcasm, or bitterness, or confusion, or that look of concentration that had appeared as he thought up his answers. It was almost… sorrowful. A bizarre expression of regret and melancholy, a remorseful look that had no place upon the face of one such as Loki. For a brief second, so fleeting that Steve silently wondered if he had merely imagined it, their eyes met, and for once Loki's held no arrogance or disdain. It was as if he were pleading, a silent apology stirring within his eyes, unspoken yet clear as day.

The moment left as soon as it came. Steve closed his eyes and shook his head, the strange instant leaving behind a whirl of confusion. Once again, silence had descended upon the room, this one unusually still and slightly awkward. What had they been talking about?

Steve remembered just as a sharp knock pierced the silence. Abruptly, all thoughts of the bizarre moment fled as Steve realized who the knock must be. Sure enough, a second later the energetic voice of Tony Stark burst into the room.

"Cap? You in there? I'm coming in, weapons locked and loaded."

The door slammed open and, sure enough, Stark entered, fully enclosed in the Iron Man suit, weapons out and pointed immediately at Loki.

"Damn. I really had hoped this was some elaborate prank. You know, like revenge for the cupcake incident. Should have known better. You're not that vengeful.

"'Sup Reindeer Games? Man, you look like crap. Did you do something to your hair?"

Loki smirked, back in his element of sardonic quips and ridicule. "Personal styling, courtesy of murderous aliens."

"Murderous aliens? Sounds like your kind of folk. Oh and by the way, we have the place surrounded, so don't think you're gonna get away."

"Oh I wouldn't dream of it." Loki exhaled.

"Of course, if you're here, it's probably cause you've got some evil scheme cooked up in your psycho little head, so I guess you wouldn't want to escape. Oh, well. Still not an option."

Unsurprisingly, Loki went off with them with little resistance. His weapon of choice for the day appeared to be sarcastic insults and self centered complaining. They loaded him up onto a quinjet, inside of which waited Natasha and Wanda. Walking to the quinjet, it certainly didn't seem like Steve's apartment was surrounded. Either Stark was bluffing, or the other Avengers were hidden. Steve suspected the former.

Natasha was flying the quinjet, and barely spared Loki a glance as he entered the ship. The glance she spared was full of hostility and threat. Wanda, however, gazed only with cautious curiosity at the Asgardian. She had never met Loki before, but certainly had heard stories of him. Loki smiled in greeting before taking a seat across from Tony.

As they descended in the air, Steve watched his slowly disappearing apartment, and reflected on the night. He knew that whatever was happening, whatever Loki had in the works, was certain to be big. Whether he was up to it, whether he even wanted to face what may be coming, didn't matter. With regret, he thought of Bucky; as much as he craved to continue his search for his friend, it would have to wait. Bucky's face flashed in his mind, and a surge of hatred rose up in him for Loki, selfishly using his friends, taking advantage of his compassion, knowing that they couldn't say no. Whatever he was planning, Steve would be ready for it. He wouldn't let Loki's evil ambition cost any more lives. And yet, as steely determination settled within the Captain, the unbidden image of Loki's eyes for that brief, strange second rose in his mind. For a reason Steve could not place, be it a gut instinct or intuition, he could not shake the suspicion that the sorrow in Loki's eyes had been genuine. Steve knew what Loki was: a villain, selfish, egotistical, insane. And yet, for that one infinitesimal moment, that brief second of clarity and connection, a thought had snuck into Steve's head, sly and relentless. The traitorous thought that maybe, just maybe, underneath all of the treachery and manipulation, there was some fleeting regret, sincere and suppressed, struggling to be heard amongst the swirling insanity and consuming malice of the twisted being that was Thor's brother.