Steve is not having a particularly good day.

Well, most of it was fine, and he came home from school in a cheerful mood because it was still sunny outside and that meant he could sit out on the front steps and draw in his sketchbook while the light was still good. (He only has 10 blank pages left, but as long as he's careful and he keeps his sketches small, he's thinks he can make it last the next few months until his birthday, when he's pretty sure his mom will give him another one.) And for a little while he did just that, painstakingly trying to capture the way the light was glinting off the windows of the top-floor apartments down the street, and in general he was having a nice afternoon.

…for maybe 20 minutes. At that point, Leah from next door, who's smaller than any other 7-year-old he's ever seen and who always walks with a limp, came outside to play with her doll on the sidewalk. Frank and Oscar from across the street noticed right away, and apparently they were bored, because they sauntered over and snatched her doll, tossing it back and forth between each other while she tried to jump for it, and laughed at her when she started crying, and Steve couldn't just sit there and do nothing.

So he marched up and demanded the doll back, and Oscar laughed and asked what a punk like Steve was going to do about it, and Steve made a grab for the doll and Frank shoved him, and that's why he's sprawled on the pavement a few minutes later with scraped knees and elbows, struggling to pick himself up for the third time and face them. It's definitely not how he hoped to spend his evening.

Come to think of it, a lot of Steve's bad days recently have started with Frank and Oscar, or some of the older boys at school, deciding the best way to deal with being bored was to pick on littler kids. In Frank and Oscar's case, that includes pretty much every kid on the block, because they're the biggest and meanest 5th-graders he knows, but going after Leah is a new low. So Steve isn't sorry for involving himself, because nobody else was around to stick up for her, and she's back inside now with her doll after Steve managed to get it back during the tussle, but that sure doesn't mean he's enjoying himself.

Oscar kicks him, hard, and Steve goes down again, gasping. He manages to get in a decent kick of his own at Frank's shin, a tiny victory he doesn't get to enjoy for more than a couple seconds before they both start pummeling him.

And then suddenly they're not, and Steve lurches back to his feet to find both boys staring at him—no, through him.

"Where'd he go?" Frank says.

"I believe he went that way," another boy says, one Steve would swear wasn't here a minute ago. He waves his hand down the street.

"Little bastard thinks he can run, huh?" Oscar says. "Let's get 'em." Apparently too focused on wanting to pound somebody to question where the new boy's come from, they both take off, leaving Steve with a kid he's definitely never met before. He's probably about Steve's age, a little on the thin side, with black hair and nicer clothes than anything Steve's ever owned, and he's looking at Steve with a sly grin.

"You did something," Steve says stupidly.

"A trick of the light, really," the boy says, but he looks pleased with himself. "And they won't bother you again tonight, I should think. I sent them after an illusion that won't vanish for half an hour or so, and it should lead them on rather a merry chase. Well, not so merry for them, I suppose."

Steve straightens, alarmed. "Wait, you can't make them think I ran away!"

The boy raises one eyebrow. "Can I not?"

"No, that's—they're never going to stop picking on people if they think they can just chase me off, I don't want them to think I'm gonna back down—"

"Well, they are gone now, and I rather think I've done you a favor," the boy says dismissively. "You could stand to show a little gratitude."

Steve crosses his arms, hiding a wince when the gesture pulls on torn skin. "I don't need any favors."

"Really," the boy says. "Yes, it certainly looked like you were taking care of yourself."

"I don't even know you," Steve says, trying to rein in his irritation because okay, yes, he's not exactly sorry that he's not still getting beat up right now. "Why haven't I seen you around here before?"

The boy actually looks offended. "I am not from here, obviously. Wherever here is. I hadn't actually expected Midgard to be so dirty. Is it all like this?"

"My street's not that dirty," Steve says, stung. "And if you don't like it, what are you doing here?"

The boy shrugs. "I was bored, and my brother wants to do nothing but spar with his friends, of late. Which apparently no longer includes—" He shakes himself, the brief flicker of hurt vanishing as he tilts his head to look down his nose at Steve even though they're the same height, and his tone turns imperious. "I am Prince Loki Odinson of Asgard, and you are clearly a commoner, so not only should you be grateful, you should probably bow to me."

Combined with everything else, there's too much going on in that declaration to parse, so Steve ends up seizing on the first thing that comes to mind: "I'm American. We don't have to do that."

The boy—Loki—eyes him suspiciously. "You just made that up."

"No I didn't. We talked about it in school last week. Winning the Revolutionary War meant we don't have to bow to foreign royalty. Everybody knows that."

"Well, I didn't, so obviously 'everybody' doesn't, and if you're wrong about that, how do you know you're not supposed to bow?"

Steve stares at him for a moment. "Do you want to see my schoolbooks or something?"

"Do not trouble yourself," Loki says in the tone of someone generously granting a significant favor, and then he settles next to Steve on the pavement. "Tell me about this revolution. Did your father fight in it?"

"I…no," Steve says blankly. "Of course not. That was almost 200 years ago."

"Surely you are at least that old yourself," Loki says.

Steve stares at him. "I'm turning 10 this summer."

Loki frowns, looking about as confused as Steve feels, and then his expression clears. "Midgardian lifespans, of course. I'd entirely forgotten." He glances around. "I confess Midgard does not look much like I was expecting, either."

"Uh," Steve says. "What were you expecting?"

"Mud huts, I imagine." Loki shrugs. "Then again, perhaps it has been long enough; I am not quite sure what time I am visiting, either."

"It's April," Steve says, feeling more out of his depth with pretty much every word Loki says. "1928."

"In your reckoning, yes," Loki says. "Hmm. How long has it been since the ice war?"

"The what," Steve says blankly.

"The invasion of the Frost Giants," Loki says in a tone of exaggerated patience. "Surely your species has not forgotten."

"The…you mean Russians?" Steve says, grasping after the first thing that comes to mind. "We weren't fighting them in the war, they were fighting Germany."

"Only if 'Russians' look like this." Loki makes an odd twisting gesture and suddenly an image is floating above his hand, maybe a foot high, of something roughly human-shaped but blue and horned and scary-looking. "They are quite large," he adds. "Perhaps twice as tall as the average Aesir male, and vicious."

Steve stares. "Uh, no, I'm pretty sure Russians look like normal people. How are you doing that?"

"Magic, of course," Loki says, as if it's obvious. "I take it your people have forgotten the Jotnar after all."

"I guess," Steve says. "Magic, really?"

Loki closes his hand and the image vanishes, and Steve tries to hide his disappointment. "You've never seen magic at all?"

"Magic isn't real. That's what the adults say, anyway."

"Is that what they say on Midgard now," Loki says, and he starts to smile. "Well, your adults are wrong. Perhaps humans have forgotten, but we certainly haven't."

This is definitely not how Steve was expecting his day to go (if he'd expected anything specific in the first place, which he hadn't, although getting roughed up wasn't a huge surprise at this point), but he's suddenly starting to think meeting Loki could be the best thing that's happened to him in weeks. "Can you show me something else?"

A lot of what Loki tells him doesn't make a huge amount of sense to Steve, but the magic part is clear enough, which makes him more willing to believe Loki's claim that he's 503 years old and he comes from a different planet (although the word he uses is "realm") and probably a different time. He creates more images in the air, of a long glittering bridge and a golden castle and a tree that spans galaxies, a little blurry and indistinct but still fascinating and magical, and in the face of Steve's obvious wonder, his arrogance drops away like it was a role he was playing until he's as eager to show what he can do as Steve is to see it. It's dark outside by the time Loki looks up at the sky and says he should go home, and Steve doesn't think he's imagining the disappointed note in the other boy's voice.

"Back to Asgard, right?" Steve says. "It looks amazing. I wish I could visit."

"Someday, perhaps," Loki says, "if I am able to return here," and then he flushes. "I…do not believe I ever asked your name."

"I'm Steve." He sticks out his hand to shake. "Steve Rogers."

"Well met, Steve Rogers," Loki says, clasping his forearm instead. "I hope to see you again." He lets go, steps back, and vanishes into thin air.

"Right," Steve says after a few seconds of staring at the spot where Loki was just standing. "Magic. Okay."

A few weeks later, he's sitting out on the front steps again because he finally convinced his mom it would be okay, but he knows she's keeping an eye on him and he hates that she feels like she has to. He shifts position and winces, one arm coming up to wrap around his ribs.

There's a faint noise at the edge of his hearing, sort of a rustle, and then Loki steps into view. "Found you!" he says, grinning in triumph, and then his gaze lands on the position of Steve's arm and his smile drops away. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," Steve says shortly.

Loki frowns. "What happened?"

It's probably not fair to be mad at Loki about this, but Steve's mad anyway, and even the possibility of seeing more magic doesn't really help. "Remember I said Frank and Oscar were going to think I ran away and that would be bad? Well, they did, so when I had to rescue Leah's doll again last week, they figured I was going to run away again, only I didn't, and they hit harder than usual, and I ended up with some cracked ribs." He can feel himself glaring and doesn't try to soften it. "Which wouldn't be so bad except now my mom doesn't want to let me out of her sight, so she took some time off from work, which she can't actually afford, so she's been staying up late doing other people's laundry instead and barely sleeping, and she's worried, and it's my fault."

Loki looks stricken. "I…did not realize…"

"No, because you figured a prince didn't need to listen to a commoner," Steve says, probably more nastily than he needs to, especially since it's not making him feel any better.

"I am sorry," Loki says quietly, looking down. "I could…try to heal your ribs? I have not learned a great deal of healing magic, but I believe I can do that. If you would allow me."

"…you can do that?"

"I can try," Loki says. "There are some who could heal you more fully, with or without healing stones. I have not progressed that far in my studies."

"Well…I guess."

Loki moves closer, just enough to touch one hand to Steve's chest, his forehead furrowing in concentration. Unexpected warmth blooms near Steve's heart, only for a second, and when it fades, his ribs really do hurt less. That done, Loki drops his hand and steps back. "Once again, you have my apologies," he says, his voice stiff and formal. "I will trouble you no further." He starts to turn away, but not before Steve gets a glimpse of his face, and he knows exactly what that expression looks like, when you're miserable but you don't want to let anyone see.

"Hey, wait," he says. "It wasn't your fault. Just…listen to me next time, okay?"

Loki hesitates. "Next time?"

"Yeah, I mean…if you want to come back again, however you're doing it."

"I would like that," Loki says, but cautiously, like he's expecting Steve to yell at him, or laugh and say he was just kidding.

"And you don't have to leave now," Steve says. "If you want to stay a little longer. Asgard's probably more interesting, but—"

"Not particularly," Loki says. He hesitates. "Perhaps you would—have you ever played tafl?"

"I don't know what that is, sorry."

"A game of tactics and strategy," Loki says, "with opposing sides represented by colored pieces on a board. It is…Thor says it is dull."

"Like chess?" Steve says. "I have a chess set—it's old, but maybe that would work. If you wanted to teach me?"

Loki's eyes light up. "I'd love to."

Tafl, as it turns out, is enough like chess that Steve picks up the rules pretty quickly, although he's not particularly good at either game, with as little chance as he's had to practice. But Loki's a mostly patient teacher, even if he doesn't hold back from wiping the floor with Steve in each game, and he's quick to compliment Steve on a clever play. It's nice, having a game to play that doesn't involve him struggling to keep up with everyone else (it's nice having someone who's willing to play with him at all, for that matter). Loki's polite and charming to Steve's mom, too, somehow managing to convince her within about five minutes that Steve doesn't need babysitting and she doesn't have to worry. Overall, it's a good afternoon after a not-so-great week.

"We could go to Central Park, if you want," Steve suggests, the next time Loki shows up a couple weeks later. "You can see our castle."

Loki looks like he's trying very hard not to show his skepticism. "You have a castle?"

"Well, it's not mine, it's just New York's, kind of, but everybody can visit. Nobody lives at Belvedere Castle, but it's still pretty neat."

"Lead on, then," Loki says. "I confess I am curious to see what Midgardian fortifications look like."

He uses some kind of magic (illusions, he says when Steve asks) to get them past the subway turnstiles without paying, which Steve thinks he should probably feel guiltier about than he does, but…well, it's not like they're hurting anybody. Loki isn't overly impressed with the subway system in general, although he acknowledges that it's "reasonably efficient, for Midgardian transportation," if nowhere near as good as Asgard's flying skiffs.

It's kind of overcast that day and some of the grass hasn't turned green yet, but Steve still likes getting out into the open when he spends so much of his time in the shadow of one tall building or another. He points up the path to Belvedere Castle where it sits on a slight rise overlooking the park, a solid stone structure like something out of another century. "See? Castle."

Loki's eyebrows go up. "That is not a castle."

"Sure it is," Steve says. "It's just not a very big one."

"That is not a castle," Loki says. "That is a decoration."

"And when invaders try to take over Central Park," Steve says dryly, "I'm sure that will be a problem. Do you want to see it or not?"

"Very well, lead on."

Steve grins. "Last one there is a rotten egg!" He takes off in a sprint, Loki sputtering "a what?" behind him. His lungs are burning by the time he's halfway up the hill, and Loki overtakes him easily, laughing over his shoulder and then noticeably slowing when he sees Steve struggling to keep up.

"Don't you dare let me win," Steve pants, doing his best attempt at an intimidating glare, which he's well aware isn't very intimidating. "When I beat you…it's gonna be…fair and square."

Loki actually turns around at that and starts running backward. Before Steve can find the breath to yell at Loki for making fun of him, Loki says earnestly, "As an Asgardian, I already have an unfair advantage. A handicap makes it much more sporting."

Steve grunts and pushes himself harder. Even running backward, Loki is still faster, although not as much, and he makes the top only a few paces ahead of Steve, grabbing his hand to pull him up the last few steps. Steve staggers to a halt, wheezing a little bit, but it doesn't feel like it's going to turn into an asthma attack. And Loki hasn't let go of his hand yet, which is sort of nice.

"So are you a rotten egg now?" Loki asks, once Steve's caught his breath. "And why in the Realms does reaching a place last make you a rotten egg?"

"It's just a thing people say," Steve says. "I don't know, I guess I've never thought about it."

Loki leans back against the wall. "Are all Midgardian sayings so peculiar?"

"Okay, well, a rotten egg's been sitting out too long, so…it came in last, or something? It probably made sense originally."

"Fine," Loki allows, "but just in listening to your neighbors talk, I have heard both 'easy as pie' and 'piece of cake' in reference to simple tasks, and I cannot conceive of any way that either is comprehensible individually, let alone in relation to the other."

Steve thinks about it for a minute and comes up empty. "I have no idea. I bet I know where we could find out, though."

So that's how Steve ends up in the library on a Saturday afternoon, something else he feels like maybe he should mind but doesn't. He's always liked books, even if most of the other kids at school think that's boring. Loki's whole expression lights up when he sees all the shelves, and he drags Steve all over the library, hauling down books on about ten different topics before setting up at a table with his stack of volumes.

"Here we are," Loki says, pointing to a 15th-century painting of explorers in one of the history books he grabbed. "I asked Heimdall what Midgard is like during my time, and he said the humans in Europe currently mark the year as Anno Domini 1428."

Steve stares. "That's 500 years ago."

"Is it?" Loki looks pleased. "I was even more successful than I'd hoped, then. I wonder what I am doing now, here in my future."

Steve shakes his head. He doesn't even slightly understand how magic works in general, but this seems even more bizarre. "Is that a problem? That you're kind of in two places at once?"

Loki shrugs. "If I were to visit my older self in this time, perhaps, which I do not intend to do. I think my presence here should not affect my own future. Time is extremely complicated." He flips several chapters ahead and stops on a diagram of an early airplane. "Oh, that's clever. Well, primitive, but clever for a society without magic."

"Thanks, I think," Steve says.

"As a species, you have all come rather a long way in a very short time. I suppose it helps that you live such short lives—you must always feel as if you are running out of time."

"I don't know," Steve says. "Some people just like inventing better ways to do things, I guess." He pulls the book toward him to find a timeline, and Loki obligingly lets go and turns to a medical history from his pile. "So if you're about 500 now, then when you were born, that would've been…wow, the 10th century? That's…the Dark Ages. Oh, and Vikings."

Loki glances over. "Vikings. That sounds vaguely familiar."

"They're mostly in Scandinavia," Steve says, skimming the text. "Norway and Denmark and places like that."

"Norway," Loki says. "As in, populated by the Norse? I think that is where Father took me and Thor, the first time we visited Midgard. I wonder if the people there still tell stories about us."

"I bet we could find out." Steve heads back to the shelves and Loki follows, and after a little trial and error, they find a book of Norse mythology, which Loki opens right there in the middle of the aisle. "Hold on, is that supposed to be you?"

Loki frowns at the image, a copy of an ancient carving that is labeled with his name but looks nothing like him (for one thing, it seems to have a mustache). "If these dates are correct, that was created long before I ever visited Midgard."

"Is this just another weird thing with time, then?"

"That, or the interchange of other realities and stories, I suppose," Loki says, as if that's a normal thing that makes sense. He pages forward and then goes still, eyes fixed on a much newer image: a naked man, features contorted in pain, chained up below a giant snake. Loki Bound, Steve reads, imprisoned for eternity with venom dripping in his eyes, fated to escape and bring about the end of all things.

"That's not you," Steve says when Loki doesn't move. "You just said so. It's—stories, that's all."

Loki closes the book and drops it back on the shelf. "Or that could be my future. The Norns bestow the gift of foresight wherever they wish, after all, even to mortals. Maybe I am—destined to be nothing but a liar and a destroyer, hated and feared by all. Destined for that." He wraps his arms around himself, looking upset, and Steve wants to make him feel better but he doesn't know how.

"Well…I like you," he says finally. "I don't think you're any of those things. And if somebody ties you up under a big snake, then I'll just have to break in and rescue you."

Loki laughs a little at that. "You would, wouldn't you?"

"Promise. Cross my heart and everything."

Loki smiles, an oddly thoughtful expression. "Do you know, I think I believe you."