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Steve coughed, even that motion drawing indescribable pain from his abdomen and chest, blood welling up behind his teeth and dribbling past split lips. His vision was starting to go hazy, and he could hear over the low crackle of interference on his earpiece that the battle was not going well. He clenched his fists in frustration, the action sending a wave of agony up his broken arm and making him heave. The ground below him was hard and cold, sticky with the blood he had lost already, the puddle of red growing ever larger. He was bleeding out and he knew it. With no one there to stem the bloodflow, he only had minutes left, if that.
He was dying.
Even if anyone had found him at that point, it would have been too late, the two barbed lances sticking through his gut and chest impossible to remove without causing more damage, lung punctured through judging by the wet sound of his shallow breathing.
The crunch of feet upon gravel barely caught Steve’s attention, his focus entirely on remaining conscious for those precious few moments he had left. Booted feet came into view with a swirl of leather and the taste of something familiar on the breeze. Strong hands cupped his face, a thumb rubbing soothing lines across his cheekbone.
“Sleep, Captain. You are quite safe.” He knew that voice, but could not quite place it, and as soft lips pressed against his own he let himself drift into the nothingness that had been trying to claim him, happy that at least he hadn’t been alone at his final moments.
Pain. Pain and noise, that was what awoke Steve some time later, grasping for consciousness and finding the way open to him. With a groan, he forced his eyes open, glancing around; he was not where he had been, and his mind felt rather more lucid than it had, though he still hurt.
“Steve.” Nat was at his side, clutching at him, checking him over for any obvious signs of injury and frowning at the visible marks upon his chest and belly.
“What-” He coughed and retched, the taste of blood still upon his tongue. “What happened? I should be dead.” Somewhat bleary-eyed, he glanced around what had once been a battlefield, buildings toppled and cars burning, his teammates standing around him wearing expressions of varying degrees of concern.
“What do you mean, ‘should be dead’?” Her eyes narrowed and she pressed on one of the red marks, earning a hiss of pain.
“Got in over my head, two of them caught me unawares, skewered me, punctured a lung, I was bleeding out.” Closing his eyes against the aching throb behind them, Steve tried to think back, to work out what had happened and his mind drew a blank. “How’d I get here?”
“You wouldn’t believe us if we told you.”
“Try me.”
“Loki brought you. Just appeared, set you down, and then vanished again.” Something unreadable flashed across Natasha’s face, then it was gone again, her mask carefully back in place.
“Loki did?” So the gentle hands, soft words and softer lips had been- Steve flushed at the thought, wondering what had possessed the god of lies to do something so uncharacteristic.
“He believes you worth saving, my friend.” Thor grinned down at him, and Steve knew the expression was not only for him. “He has some limited healing ability, though to repair two such grievous wounds should have been impossible, even for him. I doubt we shall hear from him for a while, he will take quite some time to recover.” The pride in his voice was unmistakable, and Steve had the sudden notion that the god of thunder had finally, without trying, been proved at least partly right about his errant brother.
“Well,” Steve let Thor pull him to his feet, wincing at the movement, leaning against the taller blonde while he got his footing, appreciating the firm arm around his waist. “That’s...something, I guess.”
It was a week before Steve was allowed out of the medical wing of the nearest S.H.I.E.L.D medical facility, collapsing onto his bed with a sigh of relief, pleased to be finally back in his own room. He stared up at the ceiling for a long while, simply enjoying being for the moment, before he became aware of the sensation of being watched, scrambling to his feet to find Loki watching him curiously.
“How are you feeling, Captain?” He was perched in Steve’s drawing chair, hands clasped within his lap, looking somewhat exhausted. The confident drawl was still there, though admittedly lacking in the usual sarcasm.
“You saved my life.” Steve dodged the question, narrowing his eyes at the other man in suspicion. “Why?”
“Because it is not right that you should die.” It sounded so easy coming from the god, so simple, and perhaps to a near-immortal it was.
“And since when do you do what’s ‘right’?” Loki looked almost hurt at that, but the expression was gone in less than a moment, his usual self-confident smirk back in place. Steve wondered on that for a moment, but did not allow himself to dwell on it.
“Since I realised just how much I need to make amends for.” That was surprising; Steve’s eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline, and his incredulous look did not go unnoticed, earning a small, mirthless laugh from the man. “You choose not to believe me.”
“And give me one good reason why I should believe you?” Whether he liked it or not, he owed Loki at least something for his help, and Steve Rogers always settled his debts, whether he asked for them or not.
“Because I saved your life, and because we’re having this conversation.”
“Alright, let’s say I do believe you; what do you want.”
“Straight to the point, I like that.” With an amused hum, Loki stood from his seat, swaying slightly. “I have come to request a boon, nothing important, a trifle really.” For one horrible moment, Steve thought Loki might fall, twitching in his seat on reflex, ready to catch the man should his legs give out.
“Is this my doing?” His voice softer than he meant it to be, Steve did reach out eventually and, to his surprise, Loki allowed his touch, a flash of appreciation on the trickster’s face as he was able to steady himself upon the Captain’s strong arm.
“Do not fret, Captain, I will recover in time and the price was worth it.” Steve considered, for a moment, asking why, but he knew he would not get a straight answer. No, he would need to go about this a different way, Loki’s way.
“What was it you came to ask for?”
“As I said, just a small thing.” Leaning in, close enough that Steve could feel hot breath ghosting over his lips, Loki’s bright green eyes locked onto his own, almost asking for permission with a hint of - was that fear? Steve wasn’t certain, his tongue flicking out to moisten suddenly dry lips, nodding almost imperceptibly. Loki surged forward, pressing their mouths together, and if Steve had been harbouring any doubts as to the identity of his saviour they were swiftly washed away. He knew this feeling, knew that taste, and it was intoxicating. Reaching up, he gripped hold of a handful of leather and buckles, holding the trickster god in place, keeping him upright as Loki wobbled once more on his feet, still unsteady.
When they finally parted, panting heavily and more affected by the shared intimacy than either cared to admit, Steve let his eyes roam over the flushed features of the man leaning over him. At some point, Loki had moved one knee to the bed, dipping the mattress between Steve’s legs and tantalisingly close to that. His pupils were blown and kiss-swollen lips remained slightly parted, the god looking at him with such want that Steve found it hard to breathe.
“Well,” Finally finding his tongue, Loki managed a small smirk that might have hidden a smile behind it. “That was rather more than I had expected.” Tilting his head, he nipped at Steve’s lower lip, the Captain pressing forward to steal another kiss, finding his lips meeting cool air. Loki had gone, and still Steve wanted.