Chapter 1- The Incident

How did it come to this? The pointless question echoed around his head as he weaved in and out of the rubbish. Despite everything that had happened, he had ended up back on the streets, left to fend for himself. In a way, Steve Rogers thought to himself, it's better than when he grew up, because people are so much more wasteful now. On the other hand there's no Bucky, no-one to tell him to keep his hope up, no-one to have his back in a fight.

Not that Steve Rogers needs anyone to have his back in most fights, having 'left' Shield four years ago over some 'disagreements', he's been on the streets for three years now, and his muscles haven't changed. It's not as of the world needs him anymore, after all with Bucky taking up the role of "Captain America" with the rest of the Avengers, why can't a guy rest in peace. The bullies are fought, justice is served, and Steve Rogers ends up right back where he started, even before the comic book job.

In a way it's so much worse now. What once were the advantages of his larger size and more confident manner now attract the worst kind of attention. No-one feels sorry for him, and despite the scruffy beard that's appeared over the years, Steve knows he doesn't look remotely as desperate as he feels. No-one will give a guy without a home, or a name, a job. Not that Steve Rogers doesn't have a home; he's heading there now, a nice street corner that's out of the way of both the police patrols and the wind. It's relevantly quiet as well, either that or he's scared the other guys off. Deep inside himself, behind the far more selfish persona he's forced himself to adopt to survive, the idea that his worthless, pointless self forced someone, probably far more worth, from his spot, well, abandoned warehouse.

Steve rounded the corner of the street, passing a well-dressed short man with short, dirty, bland if windswept hair. Behind him the man paused, turned around and did a double take teaching beneath his well-tailored, bullet resistant, coat for a weapon, then narrowed his eyes at Steve's disappearing figure. The man shook his head and carried onto his journey, muttering "If Steve Rogers is still alive, and that's a big if, he's far away from here, with a wife and kids, not a wondering hobo." Then he shook off the coincidence and headed for the safe house.

Steve ignored the man, as he ignores most signs of the life he used to lead. He's shed all ties with Shield and the Avengers. As he reminds himself whenever he needs to, he's doing well on his own and not looking to go back.

The sudden yells from the alley attracted his attention and Steve broke into a jog looking for the culprits. A scream pierced the air and Steve started running, spotting the attackers a few hundred meters away.

"Hey you. Stop" He yelled in his best commanding voice, the one he'd used as Captain America. The thug ignored him. "I said stop. Leave them alone."

"Oh yeah," one of the ruffians sneered, peering down the alley to where Steve was standing. "What are you going to do about it you old fleabag bum?"

Steve sighed, not only was the thug blocking his view of the victim, but despite popular opinion, he didn't actually like getting into fights. Steve took his thin jacket off, and put it to one side. "Now gentlemen, do you want to see what I'm prepared to do about it, or are you going to leave them alone."

The other crook sneered "Bet you don't know what it is you're defending?"

Steve didn't, but he pretended to consider it for a moment. "I'd defend a can from you."

The two guys charged at him. Steve ducked under the first one's attack hitting him squarely in the stomach. Then he kicked out and knocked the other thug's legs out. The first thug struck him fairly on the chin while the other one recovered and attempted to pin his arms. That didn't go well for him.

Steve swung his arms round knocking the second thug squarely and firmly out. He turned back to face the first one. "You know, I don't enjoy fighting."

"Then why do you do it?" The guy was clearly looking for an out, a chance to dash out of the alley without going on the main street to the back of him. Odd that, after all the thug had got the way out, and had clearly seen Steve knock out his companion, but he was still looking to avoid, what was, only a slightly better street, when it came to it.

"I don't like bullies." Steve responded without thinking, bending down to pick up a large stone from his feet. "I don't really care where they're from, or who they're bulling." Steve tossed the stone in his hand, just gently. It had a good weight to it, and a nice balance. Without really thinking he tossed it up, and then threw it into the side of the thug's nerve patch knocking him out even colder than his companion.

Then he turned around to find out who he'd defended. It was a small blue ball curled up on the ground. For a moment Steve wondered if he'd defended a genetically engineered dog, which would be a new one, but then the creature moved. The blue being only moved slightly, letting out a whimper that sounded an awful lot like pain, but that was enough. Steve crouched, and gently laid his hand on, what he now perceived to be, the shoulders of someone who had curled themselves into a ball.

"Hey, it's alright, they've gone now. I'm not going to hurt you." He spoke softly, trying to encourage the person to come out of his or her shell. "Do you think you can stand up, I'm not sure how badly you're hurt?"

"Not too badly." There was a croak from the figure. "They don't know the really effective methods of torture, the vicious bilgesnipe." The phrase triggered something in Steve's memory but he pushed it away, wanting to focus on the present. "Leave me." The figure demanded, uncurling himself slightly. Steve decided the figure was definitely male.

"At least let me give you a hand up." Steve took a step back and offered his hand, it was dirty, but it was cleaner than the ground. He offered it to the stranger. The stranger took it, and slowly stood up. He was odd, but Steve had expected that. The figure was tall, far taller than Steve had expected, given the size of the ball on the ground, but he was thin, painfully thin. He was easily as thin as Steve himself had been, pre-serum, and this guy was over a foot taller. He was also a very pale blue, saturated almost with the colour drained out. His hair was limp and sparsely spaced and his hands were covering what looked like a near fatal stab wound in his stomach. All in all, not a guy in good shape, no matter which planet he came from. He was familiar.

The stranger looked at Steve. He was shorter than him but tall still, for a human. Technically well built, in fairly good shape, but he knew from personal experience what someone who hasn't eaten in over a week looked like. He had a straggly beard, and flat distempered hair, with ripped and torn clothes. He also had a look in his eyes that the stranger would recognise from anywhere after the other: the look of utter despondency. All in all, not a guy in good shape, no matter how many muscles he had. He was familiar.

Steve looked the man facing him in the eye. "Loki."

"A man out of time and a man not of this world, how very fitting." Loki spoke dryly. "Well Captain, what do you intend to do with me?"

Steve looked at him long and hard taking in the injuries, the lack of magic, the situation and the general utter despair. "Don't. I'm not the Captain, I was out of Shield a long time ago, even longer than you've been stranded here I think. I'm not responsible for your situation, nor will I do anything other than condone the actions shield may have taken that has... oh Jesus." Steve broke off suddenly swearing, just noticing quite how deep the wound Loki was supporting was.

Loki glared at him despite the obvious pain. "What."

Steve considered for a moment, the idea that it was Loki being overridden by every other instinct that told him to help. "I know a healer, she owes me a favour. It's not as good as a hospital, but you need to get that wound seen to, and I'm not trained. Something tells me you wouldn't go to a hospital anyway, even if that was an option."

Loki smirked slightly at that, but also nodded. "Alright, Captain, lead me to your healer, but only because I'll not hear the end of it otherwise." Loki emphasised the title managing to convey his dislike for the authorities, for Steve, for humanity, and for the general situation in the one word. Steve would have been quite impressed at the sheer emotions of a single word, if Loki hadn't taken his momentarily distraction to edge out of sight. Steve felt the heavy weight on him a moment later as he slipped into unconsciousness.

"Yeah, you may mean well, but I'm not taking the risk. Thanks for the backup in the fight though." Loki whispered as Steve fell to the floor. His vision faded to black.

Steve wasn't too surprised to wake up on the back of the alley where Loki had dropped him. He got up and dusted himself off; collecting his jacket from where he'd left it, presumably the night before. He rounded the corner back on to the relatively main street, and followed the rush of people towards the corner. A few minutes later, still following the mass, he had a thought and checked his pockets, he'd had a few dollars in there the night before, but there was no guarantee that they were still there, even if Loki had left them.

Miracle of miracles it felt like they were all there, Steve pulled them out to check. Yes, there were all his current savings of $20, and a note. Steve opened it, the raggedy paper fluttering curiously. The thin italic writing suggested an education far above the jagged pencil it was written in.

"My dear Captain,

Never say there is no honour among thieves. My Thanks,"

It wasn't signed, but with that address it didn't need to be. Curiouser and curiouser, Steve thought to himself as he found the dirt cheap store that sold the stodge that was his only meal of the day. It was disgusting, but it was fairly honestly won, and Steve wasn't about to lose himself, not if he didn't have to.

After he'd eaten, Steve was faced with in some ways the worst bit of being homeless. He had to get money, but no-one would give him a job. At least back in the '40s people would pay him to run errands, but he was lucky to get a few a day. But still, he had to try, to try to well, do well, to be a good person to do what was right. Oh, what was the point? At some point during the three years homelessness he'd lost something, his complete idealism. He still believed in heroes, he still believed in good, but something in Steve Rogers had snapped and he no longer believed that that good encompassed the human race.

Or even Loki for that matter, who for some reason was blue, and here in New York. Steve pondered on it for a moment weaving in and out of people on the street heading to the theatre which would sometimes hire him to move scenery. It was far from ideal, and one hell of a lousy irregular job, but at least sometimes he got money. Steve was too engrossed in in his thoughts to notice the wrong turning.

After all, as Steve thought, why would Loki need helping in the first place? He nearly levelled New York on one occasion with his magic, unless, unless it was bound or banished somehow, like Thor said his powers had once been. That might explain why he was blue, Thor had said that his brother was adopted. Steve had assumed it was just from a lower class family but if it was from another species entirely, that might explain some of the feelings of resentment and obsession of proving himself.

No matter how deep in thought Steve was, the serum caused him to block the first blow. He looked up to see the thugs from last night, and a few more.

"Well," Steve considered for a moment "Scumbags, what can I do for you and your undoubtedly just as lovely as friends." Thug One cracked his knuckles and menaced which caused Steve to groan. He could take on two, he could probably take on about ten, but twenty of them looking far better fed than he was, was too many on his own.

They seemed to know this, attacking as one. Steve dived and turned kicking up the dust and knocking the assailants down. More than once he reached for his shield, before realising its absence, and getting punched in the face.

They knocked him down.

"Not so pretty now are we?" One of them leered in his face as his boot threated to trample on him.

"Well I hardly think you're one to talk." A pleasant, almost English, accent floated over the attackers. "Now I'd run along unless you want this set of rather sharp knives I've just pinched embedded in your back."

The remaining thugs turned away from him leaving Steve to position himself. He could spring them now, if he had to. He didn't want to, but he didn't really want them to get killed either. One of the thugs grunted "I doubt you fancy pancy weirdo hippie could throw them straight, let alone at us."

"Really, I was hoping not to do this, the mess is a pain." The voice spoke again. The first thug dropped a small knife embedded in his heart as Steve sprang up knocking his neighbour down. Another knife embedded in a third's chest, with a fourth and fifth following them. Steve pummelled a few of them as another two fell down from knives.

Loki leapt into the fray and belatedly Steve realised that he was the knife thrower as Loki grabbed two of the knives out of the chest killing a few more as the two of them duck and wove. The fight was over fairly quickly with them knocking the remaining few thugs out, or killing them.

"Thank-you." Steve nodded as Loki retrieved the blades and wiped them clean. "Although did you have to kill them?"

"I don't like to be owed a debt, and yes." Loki's voice was curt and dismissive. "Can you help me dispose of these?" He gestured to the 'sleeping' thugs, "There's a dumpster where they won't be spotted, and I doubt any of them will be missed."

Steve sighed again, but picked up one the indicated men. "Are you going to tell me why they were coming after you, I haven't just helped kill Shield men or something have I?" The corpses were large, bulky, and very conspicuous even in the, nigh on deserted, side street. Fortunately, the dumpster was indeed close, and Steve didn't think anyone observed him and Loki dumping the bodies.

"They're too dumb for Shield, and too badly dressed. I doubt they are anything other than a gang who took objection, first to my species, and then to your interference." Loki spoke curtly like the facts he was stating should have been obvious. For all Steve knew, they probably were. "I take it you can handle them if any more come after you. It's not really my problem anyway."

"No." Steve agreed, "It's not. Thank-you for helping" Steve paused for a moment "How are you healing, I noticed you're not using your magic?"

"No." Loki spoke curtly, picking a blade out from one of the thugs, "I'm not." He twirled the blade around watching it glint in the dim sunlight. Steve knew an unwanted topic of conversation when it hit him in the face, but still…

"Have you got a good corner, or a shelter or somewhere? I wouldn't like to think of my worst enemy out here with that kind of unhealed injury?"

"God!" Loki snorted, smirking at the irony "You are a mother hen aren't you? Besides I thought I was your worst enemy."

An enemy sure, but worst enemy? The fact was somewhere in the hidden depths of denial, but Steve Rogers was a little bit grateful to Loki, after all, in a weird way, Loki caused what could be argued for the best period of his life. Sure, he wasn't as close to the Avengers as he had been to Bucky, or Peggy, but day to day, when the world wasn't ending, yes he'd actually been happier. "Largely professional hate I'm afraid, with the added bonus of you killing lots of people. At least back when I was in the team, the only people who actually hated you were Clint and Tony, the later because you put a hole in his floor. So, fresh slate, because you don't look like you can afford to be picky?"

Loki screwed up his face, causing the blue highlights to change, gently stroking one of the knives. It would be handy to have some back-up, and he was a fairly decent fighter, not lightly to backstab him, and he could walk out of the arrangement at any time. "Clean slate then, mother hen."

"Hi," Steve held out his hand, "I'm Steve Rogers,"

"Hi," Loki said, cautiously shaking it "I'm Loki Od... Lau…" He paused for a moment "Just Loki, I'm just Loki."

"Well just Loki," Steve said with a grin, Loki hit him (very lightly) on the head "It's called a dad joke."

"It's annoying."

"Well, Loki, welcome to New York, fancy seeing if we can get any work?"