Chapter 7:

He's paranoid, continually looking back over his shoulder and jumping at every imagined sound as he makes his way down the stone steps, built widely and deep.

It's slow going for how dark it is down here, the only illumination coming from torches set against the surrounding walls, placed every few feet.

Steve has to watch his feet carefully, fearful he's going to fall, palm pressed and dragging against the cool rock of the walls to guide him better.

The slave barracks, Thor had explained to him, were deeper down than even the dungeons, near to the very bowels of the floating island upon which Asgard sits. And here it was Steve had finally learned something he'd been wondering morbidly about. That slavery in Asgard hadn't been in practice for near a millennium, and the slave barracks had fallen into disuse and disrepair for it.

Loki had been declared the Realms first slave in over nine hundred years, and currently, it was he and he alone who occupied the once over populated underground caverns.

Steve feels the awful, bone deep chill in the air the farther he goes, and the smell of sea salt is almost cloyingly thick.

It was the Queen who'd convinced him to his current path.

Thor had been reluctant, but eventually had given in to his Mother's tearful entreaties, and lent his support to the endeavor. He's up there now, at the entrance, keeping watch, while the Queen does what she can to keep other watchful eyes distracted.

She'd begged Steve to go to Loki, to make certain of his well being, though all of them knew Loki would be anything but well.

Only Frigga had been inconsolable, sobbing wretchedly as she'd asked, telling Steve that Loki would be all alone down there in that inhospitable place, suffering and forgotten, and Steve, despite the risk to himself, and despite the risk to Loki as well, hadn't been able to say no.

There has to be a way to get Loki out of here, he thinks as he continues on his way down, the dark and the silence of the place growing heavier with each step.

If there was some way for him to contact Tony and the rest of his team…

Only he's seen how powerful Odin is.

None of them have a chance against the King. Not really. Not even the Hulk, if the way Odin so easily handled Thor is any indication.

Steve's mind whirls as he walks, trying to think.

There was an urgency now to the whole thing, worse than even there'd been before.

Both Frigga and Thor had confessed to him that, in his Jotun form, the danger to Loki's person was infinitely greater.

"It is one thing to hold the knowledge that my brother is Jotun, yet to see him appear as one of us." Thor had said. "It is another matter entirely to have that knowledge given form. My people will not react well to it."

The Aesir hated the Frost Giants.

Once, centuries ago, before and during the war between Asgard and Jotunheim, before the peace treaties had been drawn up and agreed upon, it had been a normal and accepted practice, for the Aesir to go "giant hunting", as Thor had put it, in which any manner of atrocity and violence could be perpetrated against the Jotnar, without consequence. It was thought of as a sport. An amusing pastime, since, after all, Frost Giants weren't people. They were mindless, savage beasts, better off put down than allowed to live.

And thought such practice was no longer, outwardly condoned, nor had the general attitude of the Aesir towards the Jotnar changed much, if at all, in the time since it was.

Thor, tears streaming down his broad, handsome face, had confessed to him his own, matching beliefs, changed only, truly, when his parent's had explained to him Loki's heritage, had told him his own brother, his little brother, whom Thor had cherished and loved for over a thousand years, whom Thor had known to be the most intelligent, scholarly person he'd ever encountered, was a Frost Giant.

Every belief, every prejudice and assumption Thor had ever made regarding the Jotnar had, in that instant, been shattered to nothing.

And since, he'd told Steve, he's been ridden and weighted with near paralyzing guilt, for all the memories he held, of times he'd declared before his brother his own blood lust for the Frost Giants. His own, unquenchable desire to crush their skulls to powder and eradicate them from the face of the Nine Realms.

There had to be a way to free Loki. There had to be.

Steve couldn't let this go. He wouldn't be able to live with himself, he doesn't think, if he just left Loki here to rot. Not after seeing the way he's been and continues to be treated. Not with the knowledge that very likely Loki would die from it, sooner rather than later.

Thor had said the only way he knew to leave Asgard was through the Bifrost, which was controlled by Heimdall.

Logically then, Steve thinks, they would need to get past Heimdall. If they could get past Heimdall, if they could take control of the Bifrost, just for those few moments…

He's shaken from his thoughts when he realizes, suddenly, he's reached the end of the stairwell, and he finds himself in a long passageway, as poorly lit as the way down had been, only a few, sparse, flickering torches to light the way.

On either side of himself, Steve can make out rows of barred off cells, crude and ominous in the dark, made more so by the oppressive emptiness of them all.

As Thor had said, there remains no one here, no sign of life or having even once been lived in. Just barren cages, sitting as silent testament to an unjust and inhumane past.

If Steve had thought the silence and smell of the place had been overbearing on the way down, it renders him near ill standing within the heart of it.

His own breathes sound overwhelmingly loud to his own ears, the beat of his heart a blunt thud against his ribcage. The scent of the ocean assaults his nostrils, mixed in with something decidedly unpleasant. Something almost foul, metallic and sickly sweet all at once.

It reminds Steve of blood washed battlefields, the stench of human excrement, waste and bile.

He knows without needing to see that in this place, horrors have been committed.

He steps cautiously forward, ears sharp and eyes struggling to see more than a few feet in front of him.

Somewhere, Loki is down here, alone, and Steve feels his heart stutter and sink at the thought.

God, to be down here, forgotten and abandoned, for so many years…

The silence becomes somehow more pervasive the farther he makes his way inward, and so it near causes him to jump when, in that quiet, he at last hears a sound beyond his own breathes and the slide of his soles against the stone floor.

A low, almost soundless keen, drifting to him from somewhere up ahead. From somewhere in the darkness beyond.

Like a child crying.

And Steve knows already what it is.

He knows, and with that knowledge, he feels a kind of deadening despair.

He swallows, thick and difficult, and forges on, quickening his pace, the keening sound focusing to his ears into quiet weeping.

It is everything Steve can do to push the sting of his own eyes away.

It isn't long before he reaches the end of the corridor, there being perhaps only ten rows of cages on either side of it, maybe twenty by twenty each.

It is in the very final cell, on the right hand side, that Steve finds him.

And for a moment, all he can do is stand there and stare.

The light makes it impossible for him to see in any great detail, but still, he can make out Loki's form, and that dusky, powdered blue of his skin.

He is lying on his stomach, torso naked, arms curled in against his chest, face turned away from the cell's bars. The only clothing he wears is a pair of ragged, torn up and ill fitting pants.

And even in the darkness, the captain can see the glint of blood, reflecting off the weak light from the torches. Loki's back swathed in it, thick enough to make the open wounds from which it pours impossible to define.

This close, the fact of his weeping becomes only too obvious, broken and weak though it is. It is the sound of someone who cries, knowing none will hear. None will care. And Steve cannot keep his own tears from welling in his eyes, slipping silent and devastated down his cheeks.

Loki doesn't realize his presence, even as he steps forward and kneels at the bars, wrapping his hands round the cold, smooth metal.

He waits a long moment, afraid and not yet trusting his own voice.

Finally, he works up the courage.

"Loki?" He says, keeping his voice just barely above a whisper.

Still, it's enough to startle the former prince badly.

Loki jerks violently, his hushed sobs cutting abruptly into silence as he struggles weakly to his hands and knees, scurrying back, farther from the bars, pressing himself into the back wall.

Steve watches with dismay as the god bows his head and pulls his hands over the top of it in what is so obviously a defensive posture. Even from here, even in the poor light, the captain can see his frame trembling viciously and uncontrollably.

Ragged breathes fill the air, Loki fighting a vain attempt against the sobs still trapped in his throat, begging for release. He can't quite do it, wet, frail whimpers slipping free from his lips in place of it.

Steve feels sick.

God, what are they doing to you?

"Loki, it… it's me. It's Steve." He tries gently, and he can't keep the tremor from his own voice, working hard to keep himself composed.

It's almost impossible, watching the terrified, wrecked man before him.

For long seconds, there comes no reply, just Loki's continued struggle to keep himself quiet.

Steve's about to speak again, thinking perhaps the god hasn't heard him, when Loki's raspy, dry voice calls out.

"Steve?" He asks, sounding confused and ruined.

"Yeah." Steve answers, forcing himself to smile, though Loki is still turned away. "Yeah, it's me."

Another, long moment stretches in silence, until slowly, hesitantly, Loki uncurls from where he's pressed himself against the wall, and turns.

Bright, almost luminescent eyes stare back at Steve through the gloom, red and shining as rubies all the way through. There are no whites, no real difference but for a slightly darker shade running through the irises and then pupils.

For an instant, it throws Steve. For an instant, he feels a disconnect, staring back into the eyes of something so alien and inhuman. Like looking into the eyes of an unthinking animal…

But as those seconds pass, and he really looks, even in the flinty strangeness of those eyes, he begins to see Loki. He begins to see the same, precise intelligence and emotion.

Nothing of the god's face has changed, truly. Nothing but for the color of his skin and the raised lines which run in symmetrical patterns along its surface.

He looks, beyond those superficial characteristics, exactly the same. And with that realization, with that knowledge, the shock and disconnect slip away from Steve.

And Steve then notices the very evidence of Loki's humanity, the dark tracks of his tears, down his lined face, still thick in his eyes.

"Hey…" he starts, but abruptly he's cut short.

"You shouldn't be here." Loki says, voice trembling and thin. "Yo… you shouldn't be here."

"Loki," Steve says, feeling his face fall, his brow crumpling in pain. "I'm not gonna leave you here. I can't."

"Please…" Loki begs, and he can't keep the tears from his voice now, wavering badly. He turns away again, burying his face in his hands. "Please leave. Go away from here."

"Loki, I can't." Steve says again, and he wants so badly then to tear these bars from the stone, to take Loki and whisk him away from the hell.

But he can't. Not yet.

Instead he reaches his hand through the bars, holding it out all way.

He knows it's a risk. He knows Loki could easily take hold of his arm and break it into pieces, or even tear it from his shoulder. Weakened as Loki is, he's still incredibly strong.

But Steve's never been very good at bending to caution. And Loki needs someone. He needs to know someone's there for him. Someone cares, and doesn't see him as worth the way he's been treated.

"Hey," he says. "hey, come here. Loki, come here."

Loki doesn't respond at first, only curling further against the wall, face still hidden behind his hands.

"Loki, please." Steve presses, pushing closer to the bars, reaching farther in. "Please, come here."

Its several seconds more, and the captain only can watch as Loki's shoulders shudder, breath ragged, long fingers curling over his face.

"Loki,"

"I'm sorry." He hears Loki speak at last, voice muffled and strained behind his palms. "I'm sorry I've done this to you."

Steve doesn't understand, his mind confusing at the words.

"Loki," he shakes his head. "you haven't done anything to me. What are you…?"

And at last Loki's hands drop away, and he looks to the captain, eyes bright with thick tears.

"Odin cares nothing for your people, Captain." He says brokenly. "He cares nothing for mortals. And you… you endanger your life repeatedly in the service of a creature so wholly undeserving of such valor."

The tears fall, slipping slow and clear down the god's agonized face.

"You are so kind to me." He says, and there is astonishment in his voice. Disbelief. "Why are you so kind?"

"Because you don't deserve this Loki." Steve answers, his voice cracking, unable to keep the tears from slipping past his own eyes. He holds his hand out still, open. "You don't deserve this."

"I deserve death." Loki says, watching him with devastated confusion.

"No… no Loki." Steve presses. "Please don't say that."

He pushes his arm farther now, until his shoulder is jammed up against the bars.

"Please just come here. Please."

He knows there's an almost desperate hitch to his voice, but he can't care. He is desperate. He needs Loki to take his hand, so he can show him.

The wait is terrible, with each passing second the captain's hope deflating, and he thinks he'll never get to prove to Loki how much he really gives a damn. That his presence here in Asgard will be remembered by the god only with pain and regret.

But then he sees Loki move, just slowly. Peeling away from the wall, eyes still fixed and wary upon him, as he crawls with plain apprehension towards the outstretched hand.

When at last he is within reach, he stops, gaze moving towards Steve's hand, studying it intently.

"You would pass me some means to end my miserable existence?" He asks, his voice hardly more than a whispered rasp. "A poison, mayhap? Or a blade?"

"No, Loki." Steve nearly begs, splaying his fingers to show he holds nothing. "Just… I just want to hold you. If you would just let me, I…"

"I am not destined for Valhalla." Loki speaks over him. "Were I to take my own life or die a warrior's death, the fates would not grant me that honor."

"Loki, I'm not gonna let you die here." Steve tells him, and there's an edge to his voice now. A determination. It's as much a promise to himself as it is to the god.

He stretches his fingers as far as they'll go, an entreaty.

And finally, blessedly, he feels the weight of Loki's hand, resting in his own.

His fingers curl around it, squeezing firmly, but not tightly.

The first thing he notices is the coolness of Loki's skin. How it actually radiates cold. Not at brief intervals too uncomfortable. But the captain can tell, if he were to hold on for too long, it would start to make his own skin ache. Like holding cubes of ice in a thin clothe and pressing it to your skin.

What he then notices is the roughness of it. It feels almost covered in fine grains of sand, textured and thick.

It's unlike anything Steve has ever felt, but rather than being put off, rather than fear, he feels only wonder and awe and excitement.

Loki truly is another sort of being, so utterly separate from a man, and yet in so many ways very much the same.

The god's own fingers curl around his own, the grip weak and even timid.

And then Loki is slumping, listing sideways until his body is laid against the bars, chin dipping down until it nearly rests upon his chest. As though exhaustion has finally drained what little energy he had left from him.

Tears build, for a moment, washing out Steve's vision entirely, and he doesn't hesitate then, reaching his other hand through, fingers finding the crown of Loki's head, pushing through his hair. And Steve marvels at the softness of it, like a child's.

"You are so kind…" Loki whispers, voice a brittle sound.

Steve only rests his forehead against the bars, eyes closing, tears a strange warmth down his cheeks, for the chill he feels settling into the joints of his hand.

/

"We would go hunting."

Loki's voice startles Steve out of the half-drowse he'd fallen into over the last hour, but the malaise is quickly rid of as he feels Loki's hand, still held and grasping in his own.

There's a numbness to Steve's fingers, he realizes, the ache he'd suspected crawling into the joints and traveling up his wrist, into his forearm. It doesn't particularly hurt, but it's uncomfortable.

He ignores it, instead giving Loki's hand a squeeze.

It seems to encourage the god to keep speaking.

"When we were boys, Fath…" he pauses, voice drifting off and face turning away. "Odin would take us hunting, in the forests surrounding the city."

Steve feels his breath catch in his throat, and he has to clench his jaw from saying anything. Somehow he just knows he shouldn't.

"In those days I thought… I thought, someday, though it might not be that day, someday, I would grow into something that in Odin's eyes would equal Thor. That he would… would someday look upon me with the same pride and approval he did my brother. I thought…"

Again, he stops, and Steve watches as his other hand comes up, wiping absently at his eyes.

"Ah, but foolish youth." He starts again after a moment, voice wavering. "Foolish though it may have been, it afforded me a kind of naïve optimism. I was never so happy as I was in those days, when hope was a thing tangible."

Steve sees Loki's jaw work, clenching a moment, before falling slack again.

"With that I could…" his voice cracks, petering out to a strained rasp. "I could forget all else. It mattered not what the others would say when I thought… thought one day soon… soon, he would turn the same look upon me he gifted Thor every day. And he gave me so many chances, I thought… so many chances to…"

When he trails off this time, he remains silent, face still turned from Steve, and the captain, suddenly, overwhelmingly, feels a spark of suffocating rage, remembering Odin, remembering the way the King had so cruelly, so violently treated his youngest son only hours before.

Rage, because in Loki's weary, whispered voice, he hears a destroyed hope, no less longing, no less wanting for the acknowledgement that it is lost.

How could a father do this to his child?

How could he do this to him?

Minutes more pass in silence, the captain unsure of what to say, how to bring the god any sort of comfort at all.

He realizes there is no comfort to be had; not so long as Loki remains in this place, with all rights stripped from him. With all mercy withheld.

He remembers his thoughts from earlier, about the Bifrost, and Heimdall. Needing to somehow get past the watchman. If they could just do that…

"Loki," he starts softly then.

The god turns sluggishly towards him, lids heavy, body bowed with pain and exhaustion.

Steve's gaze drifts away, down to the hand he holds in his own. He notices then the sorry state of it, nails crudely shorn and caked underneath with dirt. The blue skin stretched taught over the knuckles, slightly darker than the rest, bruised and swollen, split and clogged with dried blood.

Unthinkingly, Steve rubs a thumb gently over the damaged skin, swiping it back and then forward and back again.

"I should probably head back." He says quietly, finally bringing his eyes back to Loki's face.

He doesn't want to leave. He wants to stay. But he knows if he gets caught down here, if he gets caught anywhere near Loki now, it will be Loki who suffers most.

The god simply nods, glancing away.

"How monstrous you must find me." He says after a moment, frail and lost.

"Loki." Steve replies, firm.

He brings his other hand up, placing it carefully along the god's jaw, turning his face gently back to him.

He shakes his head.

"You're not a monster." He says. He looks Loki unyieldingly in the eye, refusing to glance away. Again he shakes his head. "You're not."

The smile Loki turns on him then is so painfully self-deprecating, and Steve wants with consuming passion nothing more than to make him believe his words.

"Kind." Loki says to him.

Steve swallows.

"I'm going to get you out of here Loki." He says. "I swear to you."

Loki's own head shakes, disbelieving.

"How?" He asks, blunt.

And now it's Steve's turn to smile.

"I have a plan." He says. "I promise you. I won't leave you here alone."

Suddenly then, Loki's hand lets go his own, and in an instant, he's snaked his thin arm through the bars, his wide palm lying, soft as a breath, against the captain's cheek, the cold of his skin shocking and sharp.

"Foolish solider." He says, smiling again. But there is no mockery in his voice. Only a sort of bemused fondness. He nods. "I believe you. Perhaps that makes me more the fool."

Steve reaches up, taking Loki's hand, pulling it between his own.

"I'm coming back for you." He says. "On my honor Loki. I won't let you down."

Loki leans forward, resting his forehead against the bars, looking up at Steve.

"Go then." He says. "Before you're found out."

Steve nods, giving Loki's hand one last squeeze, before finally letting go, pushing himself to his feet.

He watches the god pull his arm back through the bars, curling it around his torso.

He's so small, Steve thinks, as Loki turns away.

It's all the captain can do then, to force himself to do the same.

To walk away from him, down the corridor and up the stairs.

To leave him there alone.

/

AN: As usual guys, thank you so, SO much for all the support and love I've gotten on this story. I never imagined it would have the impact on people that it has thus far, and it means the world to me to know you all are enjoying it.

If you have a chance, let me know your thoughts on the chapter.

I promise you Loki's escape from Asgard is coming, and soon. Within the next couple of chapters, and then it's probably off to Avengers Tower, where he'll be faced with a whole new set of problems, lol. Along with everyone else.

Things are going to get pretty rough for him though before that happens, just a forewarning.