Aut cum scuto aut in scuto.

While Steve refuses to allow acquaintanceship with Loki and Thor to influence his own (albeit confused) religious beliefs, he's done some mythological readings in the past several months. You have to take everything with a grain of salt; he knows that full well. Even stories with a grain of truth get distorted beyond ludicrous after a few decades (he's seen it happen with his own history), let alone centuries. He knows enough not to ask them obnoxious questions about mistletoe or eight-legged horses; he has to figure if there's something he needs to know along those lines, Thor will bring it up eventually.

Or Loki might, if it suits him. He's a little like a cat, that way. Aloof, sleek and sharp, too clever, and he knows much, much too much for his own good...but Steve thinks that like a cat, he might be friendly if left alone and allowed to approach on his own terms. Steve has been known to oversimplify things, though.

At any rate, his readings have yielded a number of stories across cultures of heroes--in the old-style Greek sense--and warriors. Berserkers and mad fighters with geasa or battle trances that compel them to kill friend and foe alike, unless stopped or diverted. Horror stories. Not what Dr. Erskine was going for with his serum, mercifully, but certainly tireless bloodlust is an item that could appear on the checklist for 'characteristics of a super soldier'.

He wonders. Because he doesn't need much sleep, himself, especially when they're on a roll breaking up Hydra bases, hunting down the fleeing agents. Everything is crystal clear, then, and he never feels calmer than when there are things exploding all around him. What's that say about him?

Thor is the only one he will ask this question to; that's because Steve can't ask with words, only with violence. Thor is easily a match for him; they both know this, and if Steve has to hurl himself against the force of nature that is his teammate and friend until the last of his adrenaline thins out and fails him, Thor can handle it without taking offense or injury. There are no words for how grateful Steve is for that supernatural safety net.

He's antsy after this last fight, even after they land back at the base and the rest of the team starts to scatter for hot showers, sugary snacks, stupid movies or a well-deserved night's rest. One way or another, Steve is headed straight for the gym, several floors below the living quarters, but he gives Thor a silent, intent look on his way. It's not a demand or an order; it's not a plea. His thoughts aren't organized enough for that. Whatever this is between them is less about who is dominant or submissive than it is about raw energy and the desperate need for an outlet for it.