Steve woke, covered in sweat. His breathing heavy and uneven. His whole body slightly shaking with each breath. It was too dark. Steve felt the darkness closing in. Steve rolled over to his side and reached to his bed stand, fumbling for the lamp switch. The light hit his eyes and a sigh of relief escaped from Steve's lips.
He'd had another nightmare. The nightmare. The nightmare that responsible for Steve's, now natural, four hours of sleep. The nightmare that gave Steve less reason to live each day, the nightmare that played out each second that had gone by before Steve crashed. Plunging into the ice cold water that covered him before he had time to think of his inevitable death, and then nothing. Blackness.
Rubbing his eyes he felt hot salty tears that were streaming down his face. Luck they called it, surviving 70 years in the ice. For Steve it was a punishment, that he was reminded of every time he woke up. The harsh and blunt truth eating away at his mind with each step he took in this new world. The longer Steve thought, the more he noticed the hum of the machinery, the air conditioners constant rattling and buzz, the dim sounds of the TV playing in the other room, he could even hear the small mechanical noise of the bedside clock. He hated this life. Alone and regretting every second alive. Steve's hands began to draw themselves to fists, veins tight against his skin. The buzzing around him increased, growing louder and louder.
A crash snapped Steve out of the trance. On the wall across him lay the bedside clock, in pieces. Steve blinked and looked at his hands that were now unclenched, pointed toward the wall. Was this what this had driven him to? Steve needed to leave. He couldn't be here any longer.
Tearing himself out of the bed and striding to the door, grabbing his coat and slipping on his shoes, Steve left his apartment with a final slam of the door. In the empty apartment, a small rustle of fabric could be heard for a split second from Steve's bedroom.
Steve walked down the busy streets of Manhattan. Cars honked and beeped, and the lights shone so bright, it was almost as if it were daylight. Almost a head taller than any of the passing pedestrians, Steve could see each face of his Howling Commando Squad in any young man, he saw Peggy in every young women's face, and he saw Howard, in the giant posters of Tony Stark that hung from almost every apartment from here to Brooklyn. The faces began to mash together and Steve felt weary as the bodies pushing and shoving past him became more evident. Unfamiliar voices shouting right next to his ear.
It wasn't working. Steve needed quiet. He broke out into a run, pushing and shoving, hell, he might have even broken someone's nose in his frantic efforts at escape. His feet didn't stop until the lights slowly faded away, and Steve could see the stars again. How long had it been? He didn't even care. He let the moon's light guide him, and his eventual halt had brought him to a train track.
The faint rumble of the train and blowing of the whistle could be heard in the distance. Steve sat down on the tracks, burying his head in his arms. He missed it so much. Why was it like this? There was nothing needed from him in this new world. They had Iron Man and the Hulk. They didn't need a washed up hero that was emotionally unstable.
The whistles of the train grew louder. God he missed the feeling of being on a train, they'd traveled with train a good amount in the Howling Commandos, the cool wind in their faces, laughter and good natured stories. The last train he'd ever been on had taken his best friend, and Steve even missed being on that train too. He could feel the shaking and rattling of the tracks below him. Steve laid back, closing his eyes, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips. The whistle's blowing became deafening and it was as if a thunder bolt had been thrown right next to him.
"I'm coming home" Steve thought.
He braced himself for the hit that never came. A pair of slender hands grabbed at Steve's jacket and tore him away from the tracks just as the train would have hit. Steve felt his balance shift, he was up for a moment before toppling onto the figure below him.
"You" Steve breathed.
From underneath him, Loki's green emerald eyes bore right into Steve's ocean blue. "It's not worth it."
"But.. The enemy.. Could have let me die… Why?" Steve said, unable to wrap his brain around the situation. To make matters worse, Steve's arms that had held him from falling on top of Loki began to buckle.
Loki rolled out from underneath Steve just as he was going to collapse. As his body connected with the ground, Steve could feel the fresh dirt underneath his fingers and the smell the pine needles from the trees reaching his nose. Before Steve made any movement, he was rolled over to his back. Kneeling beside him, Loki had taken off his coat and began to stuff it under Steve's head.
"Why?" Steve asked again weakly. His eyes drooped and his body seemed to sink into the ground. It was as if all the missed hours of sleep had finally caught up with him.
"Because," Loki began, stroking Steve's hair. "I've let go and nearly thrown my life away. And someone as important and symbolic as yourself cannot be lost because of a mere suicide."
Steve listened, his eyes slowly closing with each word Loki's voice spilled out. Steve had never noticed how silky and delicate Loki's voice was before. There had always been a roughness to Loki's voice, but now it just played out like a piano piece. Each word like a perfect note being hit. He shook his head, "But it's so lonely. I miss them so much."
Loki chuckled bitterly, "Oh Captain, you needn't tell me about loneliness. The moment I chose to let go was a decision that has made my life a living hell."
Steve opened his eyes, facing Loki. Being this close, Steve now noticed the hundreds of small scars and burns that etched his face. He reached a hand up to touch the largest scar, a long, jagged line that ran 2 inches under his chin. "May I?" he asked.
Loki nodded.
Steve put his hand on Loki's face and began moving it along the scars. "Did they do this to you?" he asked, feeling cold.
"Before and after my failure of starting a war with Midgard." Loki said.
They fell silent and Steve felt uncomfortable, he cleared his throat, another question rushing to his mind. "How did you find me?"
"In all honesty, I've been watching you from a distance for a while. I've seen those nightmares, and seeing you rush out, I knew something had to be addressed." Loki said. "Please don't take that the wrong way."
Steve's head began to ache, along with his suicide and Loki's arrival, he was too disoriented, it was all too much to take in. He felt like his whole body had begun to overheat, and like he was losing consciousness. Another wave of exhaustion swept over him, and before he had time to react, his eyelids had closed, and sleep had taken him.
Steve woke up in his bed. A beeping on his bedside table alarmed him. Turning over he saw that his clock read 9 am. Hadn't he broken it? Getting up, Steve felt a rush of blood going to his head, he sat back down. Looking at the clock again in puzzlement, he noticed with closer inspection, a small rectangle of paper that read
'Stay Strong'
Steve smiled, because no matter what he did or did not know in this new time, and whatever he was feeling,
Steve was not alone anymore.
At 10 pm on the dot, Steve entered his room, holding a single tulip. He heard a shift in the corner of his room. "I never truly thanked you for last night." Steve began, walking over, "I think it's time to officially meet you. Hi I'm Steve Rogers." He stuck his hand into the dark corner, out of the shadow, a slender, pale hand emerged and a figure stepped out.
"And I am Loki Laufeyson. And why the flower Mr. Rogers?"
"I never did thank you for fixing my clock. Do you think I could make up for it some way?"
"I can think of something."