-epilogue-

-the same old fears/wish you were here-

But, of course, he did. It took almost a year. He'd already heard about what had happened in Asgard – the old king's disappearance, his eyepatch, boots and staff laid by the edge of the water. They hadn't found a body yet. Steve kept his own counsel, even though it proved difficult when he realized the situation it left the other world in.

Loki showed up in a rather sad state. Steve didn't recognize him at first – whether it was Midgard rain or Asgard riverwater, he was drenched right through, with a black cloak slung around his shoulders. It showed off his true height, making him look rather like a ghoul – albeit a ghoul with a face like a kicked puppy.

"…Can I come in?" He glanced upwards, and flinched as a crash of thunder sounded far away.

"Of course you can. And that's just ordinary thunder, by the way."

"You never know," he said darkly, but he stepped through the doorway anyway. "I didn't kill him, by the way," he said hurriedly, before Steve could say anything. "He killed himself, I was in disguise as someone else, I just didn't want to be in a cell, and then he went and jumped into the river and somebody had to do something while Thor was off being stupid –"

"Hey, hey, hey, catch your breath, will you?" Steve grasped Loki's shoulder and pushed him down onto the couch. "I wasn't going to ask."

Loki looked a little sheepish. "Well," he huffed, drawing the cloak closer around himself, "now you know."

"I'm sorry."

"What?" It came out as peevish, and Steve flinched a little at Loki's imperious tone. He gently took the cloak from Loki's shoulders, hanging it up where it could drip in peace before giving him a warm, dry blanket.

"You might want to get your wet clothes off first, although that's your choice."

Loki didn't hesitate to unbutton his shirt, although he stopped there before pulling the blanket around himself. "That's the last time I jump in a river," he muttered. "What are you sorry about?"

"What do you think?" Steve gave him a shy smile. "I bought Cheetos and everything."

"That was…" Loki tried to count it out on his fingers.

"A year ago."

"I knew that. Just maybe not in Midgard years." Loki ran a hand through his hair, and when his fingers hit a tangle, cursed and brought both hands up to sort it out. "Nothing to apologize for, you just hit me in the face and assumed I was trying to mess with your head. Which, as assumptions go, isn't a particularly atrocious one."

"I shouldn't have judged you."

Loki shrugged. "Everyone does it. My own brother doesn't trust me, and I've given him plenty of reasons not to." His face suddenly twisted. "He isn't even my brother."

"I don't know what else you'd call him."

Loki looked up at him suddenly, hands still tangled in his bedraggled hair. "I still do not understand you. How can someone be so horrifically, annoyingly, overwhelmingly positive?"

"Hard work. Good friends. People willing to forgive a few mistakes." Steve sat down on the couch next to Loki. "You should try it."

"Oh god." Loki waggled a finger in Steve's face, trying to hide the smirk on his face. "If you ever, ever think I'll be as much of a goody two-shoes as you are, then -"

Steve caught his finger. "What was it you said? Wanna talk about truth? Honour? Patriotism?" He grinned so widely he thought his face might break in half. "And apparently my costume's a bit tight."

Did Loki's face turn a little pink? Steve rather thought it did. "He wasn't supposed to repeat that. Bit rude, don't you think, repeating personal conversations–"

Steve kissed him. After a moment, he drew back, trying to sound perfectly calm on the outside. "You brought Bucky back to me. You saved his life."

Loki was definitely pink at that. He couldn't meet Steve's eyes. "It was the least I could do."

"Can I kiss you again?"

"You're asking permission? You really are a bloody boy scout." This time Loki kissed him – shyly, hesitantly, his hand just barely touching his shoulder. And it was perfect, until –

"Whoever you're snogging and giggling with out there, I get to meet them in the morning!" came Natasha's voice from the bedroom, followed by a grumbled, "I just wanna sleep…", presumably from Sam.

Loki paled. Steve laughed. "She doesn't bite, don't worry."

"But I called her a –"

"Yes, I know. She has other ways of getting revenge."

"That's not comforting!"

"Don't worry." Steve messed up Loki's hair again, earning a grouch from the Asgardian, who proceeded to put it back in place. "I'll protect you."

"You've got to be joking."

Steve was still restless. And Loki still dreamt of falling.

But it was better. They weren't fixed, becaused 'fixed' wasn't something they could be – Natasha still disappeared in the middle of the night, and Sam still jumped at loud noises, and Bucky still reacted to orders too quickly and had holes in his memory – but they were alive, and more alive every day.

And eventually, maybe, restless would become adventurous, and falling would turn into flying.