2.
The street was dark when Thor pulled his pickup truck into the driveway. Most of the street's porch lights were on, causing a dim golden glow to reflect on the black asphalt of the road. The shadows of cars, bikes, and students walking on the sidewalks and on the pavement stretched across the houses and under streetlights. The distant sound of thumping bass signalled that there was a party going on a few houses down, as did the number of irresponsibly parked cars. But when the churning engine of the old red and white pickup sputtered to silence, Loki's mind reluctantly stopped wandering. He must have been half asleep, and when he sat up, his stiff neck protested with a few tiny pops.
He sat forward and rubbed his eyes, then looked blearily through the windshield at the house in front of him. It was a two-story with slightly overgrown bushes, leaves in the lawn, and looked slightly tilted to the right; on top of that, it was desperately in need of new paint. In perspective, though, it fit in perfectly with the rest of the houses on the street. Loki put his hood up and scowled heavily, getting out of the truck and slamming the door.
The echo resounded off of the surrounding buildings, and Thor poked his head around the bed of the truck. "Don't slam the doors, Loki. It's my truck."
"This thing is ancient anyways, a few dents and scratches would only fit in," Loki spat as he slung the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder. "And I thought we were moving in with someone rich. This place is filthy."
"Well, Stark only pays his share of the rent. Now quit whining and start unloading, or you're sleeping in the laundry room." Thor smiled and started unloading their boxes, and Loki felt his blood boil at that idiotic grin. He picked up a box that was open on the top, and after sighing loudly enough to get Thor's attention, tipped the box over and let the contents spill onto the driveway. DVD cases, a few tangled pairs of headphones, and some chargers clattered across the cement.
Thor's amused smile remained in place, although it grew more forced, now showing mild annoyance. Then he laughed softly and nodded at the things on the ground. "You're picking those up." Then he picked up three enormous boxes with ease and headed up to the porch, propping open the screen door with his foot before unlocking the house and stepping inside. A light in an upstairs room flicked on.
Loki let out a frustrated huff through his nose and glared at the junk on the pavement of the driveway; then he gave an audible groan, picking them up and unceremoniously tossing them back into the box. He stacked another small container on top of the box he was holding, and balanced the load as he made his way up the wobbly stones leading to the porch. The steps were slanted, and Loki cursed them quietly when he almost stumbled.
While precariously balancing the boxes, he reached out for the handle to the screen door; after the hinges squealed in violent protest, Loki threw out his foot to hold the door open, and ended up sending both boxes crashing into the bushes by the door. The sticks and leaves rustled and fell into the silence as the items were lost to the dark abyss of the overgrown shrubbery.
"Thor, get your buffoonish, drunken ass out here and get the boxes!" Loki hated how weak and childish his voice sounded, but he was exhausted, irritated, and wanted anything more than to be here. He was already forced to go to his last choice of college, and now had to room with his grossly popular older brother and his gaggle of friends, some of whom had made it pretty clear that they didn't want another roommate. But Thor had obliviously insisted, and now Loki was dragged along to share a basement with him as he struggled through his freshman year. He would have much preferred to stay in an on-campus dorm where he could have a room with someone totally new and maybe make a few new friends, or any at all. But Loki saw his chances at getting a social status disappearing like the lost boxes vanishing into the void behind the bushes. The disappointment was not an unfamiliar feeling.
He sighed heavily and stepped down, squeezing between the house and the bushes to gather as much as he could of the fallen items. When he thought he had them all, he threw them back in the boxes and stepped up on the porch. Then the screen door suddenly opened and smacked him right in the nose.
"Shit – ow!" Loki exclaimed, hands flying to his nose. Everything structurally felt fine but it still hurt like hell. He expected a bruise in the morning, but that could be an exaggeration.
He glared up only to see Thor shrugging apologetically and slightly confused, laughing to himself. "What are you doing on the ground?"
"Your stupid stuff fell into the bushes so I thought I'd do you a favour and retrieve them. Next time, though, I'm definitely leaving them there." Loki stood and faced his brother, matching his muscle with a strong scowl and picking up the boxes, heading inside.
The interior of the house wasn't as terrible as the exterior. The doorway opened into a hallway with a staircase directly on the left, and coat pegs and a shoe rack along the wall. To the right was a living room, and both the hallway and the far end of this room opened into a kitchen and dining room. The walls of the house were slightly darker than cream-colored, more of a comforting light tan.
Loki was surprised at how clean the floors were, given his first impression from the leaf and stick-riddled, nearly overgrown lawn. He walked down the hall into the dining room and looked around, seeing the space opened into a new room on the left. Behind him and to his left was a door under the main staircase, so after assuming that this led to the basement, he nudged it open and headed downstairs.
The basement was finished, with dark carpets and white walls. There was a room to the right connected to the laundry room, but that looked to be mostly storage, with stacks of boxes labelled in unfamiliar handwriting in every corner. To the left was a long room with a corner couch and a large television, along with some movie racks and other coffee tables. There was another door at the end of this room that went outside. Loki walked to the end of the room and turned down the small, hidden hallway and walked to the end, seeing the light on in the room on the left. There was a massive empty mattress in that room, and some of Thor's boxes were already stacked in there. Loki looked to the smaller, pitch-black room on the right. This was his, then.
He dropped the boxes in Thor's room before stepping into what would then be his room; the darkness engulfed him and the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. Something might have skittered across his foot. He fumbled along the walls until he found a light switch, and when he flipped the switch up, he was momentarily blinded by the pale but bright white light that came from the ceiling. It was disgustingly industrial. Loki made a mental note to buy some nice lamps instead.
There was a full-sized mattress pushed into a corner, but that was it. He was already envisioning what he'd do with the room though: he'd tuck a desk into the corner opposite the door, and an armchair into the one under the window well. He could put his clothes in the totes he brought with him and keep them under the bed, and have a short bookshelf under the window. That would certainly be enough to hold all of his books and journals, while still leaving space on the walls for him to decorate at will. The closet behind the door was small but workable, and honestly more than he expected. As much as he wanted to complain, Loki actually kind of liked the space. It was neat, tucked away, and his own. He'd never had much of that in his life before.
When he went back upstairs to get his own boxes, there was another man in the kitchen, talking to Thor. He was much shorter, with messy, slightly curly black hair and wire-rimmed glasses, and was wearing plum purple sweatpants and a long-sleeved black shirt. He had a glass of water in one hand, and an orange pill bottle in the other, with three others lined up on the counter behind him; he seemed tired. Loki shrunk back against the doorway and crossed his arms, but was noticed by the shorter man, who turned his head and raised the fingers of the hand holding the pill bottle in a slight wave.
"Oh, Banner, this is my brother, Loki," Thor smiled and walked over to Loki, clapping one large hand onto his shoulder. Loki fought the urge to hiss, and instead nodded in greeting at what he reluctantly accepted to be his new housemate.
"Hey," Banner responded, shifting his feet and standing straighter. His shoulders still sagged a little. "Welcome to the house, I guess. You can just call me Bruce… I don't know what else to say except for that it gets kind of crazy here. I'm sorry if any of the others are rude to you." He looked at Thor. "Is that all you wanted me to do?"
"You had to convince him to say hello to me?" Loki scowled at Thor. "What on earth have you dragged me in to?"
"No, no I'm sorry," Bruce interjected. "I was up anyways, but I forgot that Thor was bringing you along. He just asked me for some… uh, words of advice, but I didn't have anything prepared."
Loki mumbled under his breath, "Oh, it's okay, you just didn't know I existed, that's all."
Thor's voice broke the awkward tension, a little too loud for the hour. "Well, Loki and I should finish moving in. We can do proper introductions tomorrow; does that sound good?"
Bruce responded with a "fine with me", while Loki just grumbled out a "fine".
"Great, come on then, Loki. I know you don't like me touching your things." Thor patted Loki's shoulder again before heading down the hall and back outside. Loki stood for a moment longer.
Before he could stop himself, he asked a little quickly, "What are the bottles for?" He cringed as soon as he said it. Loki himself hated when his father and brother invaded his privacy by asking questions about things he'd rather not talk about and snooping around in his issues like they really cared how he felt. He knew that they truly didn't care, so instead he closed himself off. He found that it was easier to be rude and dismiss them than it was to try and explain himself or how he felt, or ask questions of his own. But now he wanted to know what kind of people he was living with, and something about this tired, polite guy made him curious.
Bruce looked up, as if surprised that he had spoken. Then he glanced away, down at the pill bottle in his hand and then down to his feet. He paused before he spoke, "This house is… a bit odd. Everyone in here has got their thing, and well… I have to take these because of mine. That being said, don't take anything bad anyone here says to heart. We're all just figuring it out as we go, as much as some of us pretend we know exactly what's going on." He looked back up at Loki. "Honestly, as much as they might try to push you out, I think you'll fit right in here."
Loki stared at him. For the first time in a long time, he felt something stir in his chest that almost felt like understanding. It came hot and cold all at once, and his head spun. Why did everything that Bruce just said make sense? Loki didn't like the feeling. It made him feel vulnerable and small and ugly, and he didn't like the sliver of hope that had snaked up his spine when the shorter man had been speaking. He didn't like thinking that maybe he did belong here, and he didn't like the fact that he was hoping he did. So, he tilted his head, sneered, and said bitterly, "Well, that was rude. Now you're calling me a freak."
Bruce sighed softly, looking down at his glass of water, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I'm not."
But Loki had already turned on his heel and left to finish helping Thor unload the truck. While he stepped outside and took a deep, gasping breath at the liberating fresh night air, Bruce finished taking his medication. He put the bottles back in the tiny cabinet above the sink and finished his glass of water, then glanced once more towards the door. Bruce didn't know how well he would hold up this year, but he was determined to assert control into his environment to keep it as steady as possible. It seemed so backwards that the most unstable of them all was the only one trying to keeps things sane in the house. No one else was stepping up, though, so he was left to scold and comfort and talk them all through it. For a moment, Bruce doubted if any of them would do the same for him. He shook his head to clear that thought away and headed upstairs to his bedroom. Of course, they would, he assured himself. They're your best friends, and they've done it before. Why wouldn't they now?
Because you can't be fixed. Your issues are permanent, and theirs are temporary. Bruce almost winced at the dark voice that crept into his head. He stopped in the hallway, staring at nothing, barely seeing the closed doors around him. He took three steadying breaths, counting to ten each time.
When the pressure at the base of his throat went away, he kept walking. He got to his room, closed the door, and laid back in bed. The covers around him were his shield, the walls of his room his fortress. His heartrate slowed as he tried to drift off. The thought that often sent him to sleep floated into his mind tonight. Get some rest. Tomorrow might not be as easy as today.
Outside, Loki looked up at the window in which the light had turned on when they arrived. That must have been Bruce's room. He found himself wondering what he could have said differently before he stormed out. There was no question that what he said was harsh, especially because the guy seemed like he was trying to help Loki feel welcome.
Despite this train of thought, Loki continued unpacking his room. And by the time he finally laid down at an early hour of the morning, hoping for a few hours of sleep before people started waking up, he had dismissed most of his thoughts about Bruce. They were replaced by unwelcome memories, insecurities and doubts. Falling asleep was a bliss he often craved, and would miss as soon as he opened his eyes the next morning.