Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Three schools since the start of the year. That’s how many schools Bruce had attended and been subsequently expelled from. The third came just under two months ago, on the very last day of freshman year. He had been called into the principal’s office and been very firmly told to not even dream of coming back next year. So, just like they had done multiple times before, he and his mother packed up and moved to a new area, though this time much further than usual; there was no chance any other school in the nearby districts would take him after all his "incidents". It was slowly becoming harder and harder to find schools that wanted him, and Bruce knew that his mom didn’t have the money to keep moving around from place to place, not on her income alone. But it wasn’t his fault. People just loved making him mad.

So, here he was, sitting in his tiny bedroom in their brand new, crusty apartment in the suburbs of the city, furnished with slightly leaky ceilings and the imminent threat of mold. He didn’t mind. Or, at the very least, he knew why it had to be this way and he didn’t resent his mother for it. In fact, he was impressed that his mother didn’t resent him for it. After all, if he didn’t exist, they wouldn’t have to move around every few months. So, surely, his mother had every right to hate him, didn’t she? But she didn’t. And it was why Bruce was convinced she was the best mom in the world. Because she loved him no matter what. 

Bruce watched the cars drive by outside, raindrops of all sizes pattering on the glass and seeping through the loose window frame. At least it was better than in their old apartment. In the old apartment, rain would drip through as if the glass wasn’t there at all and get all soaked up by the peeling wallpaper. That sucked. The place always smelled damp. Hopefully this place would be just a little less leaky. Just a bit. When it wasn't getting his walls wet, Bruce liked the rain. It was calming. Watching it run down the window, all pitter patter pitter patter pitt–

The door creaked open, and Bruce turned to face his visitor, brushing a stray brunette lock of hair out of his face. Unsurprisingly, it was his mom, Rebecca. Her footsteps were soft against the faux wooden flooring, a pile of neatly folded hand towels in her grasp. She placed them on the windowsill in an attempt to soak up any rainwater seeping through before sitting beside him, a delicate hand resting on his shoulder. “Bruce…” He recognized that tone. She used it every time they moved somewhere new.

“What’s up, mom?” he asked her knowingly, expecting nothing more than for her to gently ask him to think about the consequences of his actions before doing anything rash tomorrow. 

“Your first day is tomorrow, and this is gonna be a new start for you this time, I promise…” He nodded along, as skeptical as he always was. “I’ve had a chat with the principal, and–”

“No. You didn’t. No chance.” Bruce remembered something his mother had mentioned briefly a few weeks ago. “There’s no way I’m doing counseling.” He spoke the word with such hatred, as if the very thought of it was an unforgivable sin.

“Brucie, please,” his mother tried, “this could be good for you. Maybe you can find a way to control your outbursts.”

Bruce shook his head, adamant on the issue. “No. It's not like I go around doing it for the fun of it.” His anger was slowly bubbling up beneath the surface like a pot about to boil over, his fists balling up the thin bedsheets in  his grip. What does his mother want from him? To be some sort of sitting duck and just let people bully him without consequence? He’d die before he did such a thing. "I'm only ever returning the favor."

“Please, sweetheart. I know you don’t want to do this, but you have to. For me.” If one thing about Bruce was true, it was that he’d do anything for his mom, even if it royally pissed him off.

Bristling at her tactic, Bruce huffed, “Fine. Whatever. Just get out.”

At his relent, his mother smiled, standing up. She knew it was better to leave him to calm down with his own devices. “First session is tomorrow,” she told him simply, shutting the door behind her.

And he was finally alone again. It was finally quiet again. Quiet except for the rain. The rain and the noises of Bruce hitting his pillow over and over, the sound of the light switch turning off the lights in the hall, the bubbling and creaking of the pipes in the walls. Was it ever really quiet? Or was it just something people said when it wasn’t loud anymore? Because this certainly didn’t feel quiet to Bruce. So many little noises, all banging together to make a whole new kind of loud. An ugly, unorganized kind that just didn’t seem to fit together, like a rock guitar and a violin. They just didn’t work.

Either way, it was better than having his mom here and attempting to comfort him, fumbling over her words when it didn't help. He loved his mom, he really did, but she was far from the best person for him to be around when he was irritated. Bruce didn't like comfort. Words only made him worse. Maybe he was strange for it. But, then again, maybe he was strange for the way he dropped forward, face-first into his pillow, and gripped onto it like it'd personally insulted him. Once there was nothing aggravating him any longer, his anger was always quick to fade into something mellower. It seeped into his heart and sucked up everything good inside like a determined sponge glued to his insides, and it left him with a bone-deep tiredness that nothing but time could help.

A deep groan slipped out of his throat, his hold on his poor, abused pillow letting up. It isn't the pillow's fault, he noted mentally, which was a bit silly because he knew that it wasn't the pillow's fault—it was an inanimate object, how could it be? It drew a weak laugh from his throat, but it was hollow, much like the rest of him. He felt completely weightless, and yet he somehow seemed to be forced to notice the imaginary boulder that seemed to be weighing down on his shoulders and stealing the air from his lungs at the very same time. It was a horrible feeling, one that took root within his every cell and killed it slowly.

He needed a nap. That much was clear. It wouldn't get rid of this feeling, he knew that, but he desperately needed to sleep through it. Being conscious was a waking nightmare when he felt like this, when he felt like nothing and everything and nothing once more. It was hard, though, attempting to sleep like this. It felt like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders already, and rolling onto his side seemed to encourage Mars and Venus to balance themselves on top. As he pulled his thin blanket on top of himself and pulled it close, Mercury joined in.

Deep breaths. In and out. It'll help, he told himself, it will. But it didn't. Every intake of air brought nothing of substance in, and every exhale let everything left of substance out. He stopped paying attention to his breathing.

Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter.

He paid attention to the rain again, or at least he did to some capacity. It stayed uninterrupted this time. It stayed peaceful and steady, like an anchor settling into the sediment of the seafloor. It took nothing out of him to listen. He couldn't control it, but neither could anyone else. There was no urge to change it because it was no one's fault, no person nor God could stop the steady rainfall. It simply was. It happened of its own non-sentient accord, and it stopped of the same.

Nothing that was not sentient could feel. It could not feel full nor empty. Bruce wished he could live like that. He sometimes did; he did right now. Bruce did not feel in the bubble of sleep, and he had been whisked off with it as carefully as the rainfall was perpetual.

And in unconsciousness, for Bruce, came the rarest gift of all. Peace. Uninterrupted peace.

For now.

***

Bruce awoke to the polite, muted sunshine of morning. The cloud cover from the previous evening still coated the sky, and, as miserable and gray as it appeared, it was a soft mercy for him. He wouldn't have appreciated it if he woke to anything brighter burning through his eyelids; it certainly would've ruined his day before it had begun.

With a sigh, he rose from his bed and pried open his eyes, sealed shut with sleep. His vision was bleary, but he quickly fixed it with a hard rub of his eyes. He stayed still for a moment and looked down at the almost ratty, white sheet covering him, stained with coffee in places from when he wrapped himself up with it during a late night study session and knocked over his cup (which was a much more common occurrence than he would've liked). It wasn't much, but it was his, and that was good enough for Bruce.

Slowly, he raised his gaze to his desk and glanced at the old digital clock perched on the edge of it, a few textbook that were definitely not on the curriculum balanced on top even more precariously. What? Bruce got bored with the material for 10th grade when he was, like, eleven. The clock read 8:30 A.M., so Bruce knew it was 7:30 A.M. The clock was an hour ahead, and he couldn't change it. There was nothing to adjust the time—no settings. Bruce had tried everything about a hundred times. He'd just grown used to it. So, he had 15 minutes to get dressed and have a quick breakfast before jumping on the bus for his first day.

As he tossed his half-limp legs off the side of the bed, using the momentum as a motivator to sit the rest of him up, he still felt a decent bit of hollowness clinging to his insides. The time crunch mostly overrode it, however, even if he still allowed his feet to drag as he moved over to his quaint closet. It was an old thing, and it showed. The wood-print laminate was chipping off and revealing the unattractive fiberboard beneath, and one of the legs was simply held up by duct tape and hope. Thank god there were three more, otherwise it probably would've fallen off years ago.

Throwing on whatever graphic tee and pants he found first without a care, Bruce merely glanced into the cracked mirror taped onto the inside of the door to make sure neither was on inside out before he left his room for the kitchen. It was merely a right turn as he exited his room to get there. The apartment layout was rather compact. The main room had a small living room and kitchen without a divider between, and a small hall led off to his room, his mother's, and the bathroom. It was only the basics needed to survive, but they were easily survivable, just not luxurious.

He grabbed two mugs and filled them with water, shoving them in the mildly decrepit microwave before opening the cupboards while he waited. He grabbed a slice of bread out of the packet, tossing the pack back into the cupboard, and ate it neither buttered not toasted. He was a simple man, and he didn't want to run up the grocery or electric bill needlessly, so he ate his boring bread without complaint.

When the microwave beeped, he pulled out the two mugs and went back to rummaging through the kitchen cabinets, pulling out two containers: instant coffee and tea bags. He set a tea bag in one mug and, with the other, he just poured in however much instant coffee felt right. He took the mug and gently moved it to swirl the water for a minute, halfheartedly mixing in the instant coffee. He stared into it for a moment longer once the water stilled, checking that there were none of the grounds left, before he took a sip of the hot black coffee. He burned his mouth, but didn't react. He needed his fix of caffeine for the day no matter the consequences.

The click of a door opening caused him to glance up. His mother stepped out of her room, still in her pajamas, and shuffled into the kitchen. With a yawn, she took the mug that she knew was for her that Bruce had left on the counter. He did it every morning. He made her tea no matter what. It was the least he could do with all that she did for him. It was deserving of far more than tea, really, but it was essentially all he had to give. He was fifteen. The extent of his repayment abilities were severely limited.

"Good morning, Brucie…" his mother grumbled, voice thick with exhaustion, though a grateful smile adorned her face. "Feeling better?"

Bruce nodded with a half-empty hum in reply. "Sorry about last night." Apologies weren't good enough anymore. Not in his mind, not with how much he got mad at his mom for things that didn't deserve it at all.

"It's alright, you know it is," she replied, and it might've made Bruce feel worse, honestly. He was happy, so happy that she never held it against him. But she had every right to. She deserved to have that right. "I just want to help you. It'll help you."

Bruce sighed. It was a thick, weighty sigh. "I know I need therapy, I know." His mom opened her mouth to fight against that wording, but he stopped her. "It's true. Don't sugarcoat it. I just don't like it, and I don't want to talk about it."

It was clear what Bruce meant. It was the end of the conversation about it. She sighed, knowing not to push any further. This was for the best. It wasn't like he was refusing to go, so there wasn't much need to discuss it further anyhow. "Alright. Well, finish off your drink quickly. You don't want to miss the bus."

Bruce let out a small hum of agreement and took one last swig of his coffee before setting the mug on the counter, a few sips of drink still remaining, and moved over to where his bag hung by the door. He rifled through the books within, checking all of them were there, before he slipped on his shoes. They were some nice Converse his mom had saved up to get him for his birthday before last. He was glad his feet seemed not to need to grow further because they were expensive, and he really did like them.

"Bye, mom," he called, taking a moment to fidget with his keys before opening the door. Just before he shut it behind him, he smiled at his mother's wave, and locked it finally. He took one last deep breath, banishing the last of that sickly emptiness before he strode down the old stairs of the apartment building. This was his fourth first day of high school. It was nothing new for him, nothing at all. Yet, this time, something felt different, and he wasn't quite sure whether he liked it or not.

Oh well. It wasn't like turning back was an option now.

Chapter Text

Cold air bit at his skin as he exited the apartment building, doing his best not to step in the puddles from last night's rain shower as he walked down the sodden road. At a brisk pace, it was really only a walk of a minute or two up to the bus stop, which he was really quite grateful for. As much as he liked the sound of the rain, getting wet socks from puddles wasn't something he was particularly fond of. In fact, it was something he hated quite a bit.

As he approached the bus stop, advert poster on the side flaking off with every gentle gust of wind, he sat down on the cold bench and waited. It was quiet around this area in the mornings. There were very few cars going down the road and even fewer people. Most who lived here didn't have very good jobs, if any at all. Food service, gas station cashiers, any minimum wage job you could name, so getting up this early wasn't quite a requirement. It was a cheap area around here for many reasons, whether it be the high crime rate or low quality housing, so cheap people lived in it.

He surveyed the area around the stop patiently for a while as he waited for the bus. The roads, rarely used and taken care of even less, were bumpy and rough, holes and thin divots filling it. The buildings around were in no better of a state. Smashed windows were the norm around here, Bruce had quickly learned within the month or so he had been here, and so were gunshots. Not even news of murder could ward off the truly desperate from the area, and all those truly desperate people could do was pray to whatever god they believed in that one day they'd make it out of this place alive.

Bruce would've done it if he believed in any god, but he didn't. No one caused the miracle of this world, in his mind, because was it such a far fetched idea that nature, a concept that was still far from fully understood to this day by even the most advanced of minds, would be able to cause itself? Bruce couldn't tell you how, no one could, but he knew it was possible. Far more possible than a man in the sky. Logical, too.

The hum of a slowing engine caught Bruce's attention, and he glanced up, gaze falling on the yellow school bus in front of him. It was nice, disconcertingly so. There was no graffiti, no mud or chipped paint. It was odd. Still, Bruce got up from his seat on the bench of the stop and stepped through the opened doors. After a moment, he fished his bus pass out of his bag and showed it to the driver, waiting for his nod of approval before moving to sit.

The vehicle was completely empty. It didn't surprise Bruce, as he lived a decent few miles from the school. So he moved forward and, ever cautious, took a seat in a row closer to the middle of the bus, slotting into the window seat. Some people liked the front of the bus, some people liked the back, but no one really ever chose the middle willingly. He hopefully wouldn't be taking a seat someone else liked. He was the new kid (though was he ever not at this point?); if he did take someone's seat, it probably wouldn't end well. And he didn't even know his way around yet, so he didn't quite have any of his usual paybacks for bullies prepared.

As the bus started to move again, shaking slightly over the uneven tarmac covering the roads, he simply stared out of the window, watching buildings pass by, slowly becoming less derelict and more populated.

Every few minutes, the bus would stop at the designated areas, allowing more and more students on as they arrived in the nicer areas of the city. Bruce couldn't help but feel out of place as the seats around him slowly filled. People stared, of course they did. Teenage curiosity always overrode any semblance of manners, and, being the new kid, he was a magnet for it. He was used to the feeling of alienation, however. With every new school, it tended to stick longer. Though most of his old schools were somewhat near to each other—people knew of him, knew of how he couldn't stay in a school for more than a few months of the year. This was a new city, a new state, even, and it wasn't in the middle of the school year. Maybe it wouldn't stay for so long this time. Maybe he'd get to feel kind of in place for a while before he inevitably fucked up and had to change schools again.

As the bus was passing through one of the nicest areas he'd seen yet, he was surprised to hear the sound of someone finally sitting down next to him, though, he supposed it made sense since there weren't many other seats open by this point. Subtly, he glanced over at the boy who had sat himself beside him. Two things about him immediately caught Bruce's attention. One, he was tall. And two, he absolutely reeked of cash. However, it wasn't necessarily a bad thing, even if it looked like the boy's jeans cost more than his new apartment's rent for a year.

Looking closer, he took note of the boy's black hair, shoulder-length and brushed back in a way that only the highest of society could pull off, and how his striking green eyes met his own. Shit. Abort mission. He'd been caught staring.

"Hello there," the boy greeted him, an almost amused smile pricking at his lips. "You must be new. I'm Loki Odinson."

Bruce stayed silent for a moment, and with the way his mouth opened and closed, looking for words but finding none, he was sure he looked like a blubbering goldfish. "Uhm— Bruce. I'm Bruce. Banner." Real smooth, Bruce, he thought to himself, Make a right fool of yourself in front of a clearly rich kid; secure bullying material already. "And, uh, yeah. I'm new."

"You like to stare, don't you?" Loki asked, but, no matter how it was worded, it was clearly intended to be understood as a statement as opposed to a question.

"Yeah, uhm… sorry. You just—" Bruce paused, looking for the words. Loki took the liberty of finishing for him.

"Look like my outfit costs more than your home?" he offered with an almost sardonic smile.

Bruce's brows furrowed in offense. "Okay, that was uncalled for," he quipped. "…But, yeah, that's… a pretty good descriptor."

Loki nodded in agreement, a thoughtful hum building quietly in the back of his throat. "Yes, well, it's just as accurate for most people in this school as it is for you, even if most of the students here are wealthy. Well, accurate for everyone except for Tony and my brother. And possibly Romanova. She has that air about her."

Bruce pursed his lips in thought. At least he knew who the rich ones were now. The rich ones tended to be the meanest, though Loki appeared to deviate from the usual pattern. He was rude, but it didn't seem to be in a particularly malicious way. From what Bruce had gathered so far, it appeared to just be his personality. "Romanova?" he asked curiously. That was clearly a last name, and it sounded to be something east European. Russian, maybe. Ukrainian? He wasn't quite sure. Geography was never his strong suit.

"Yes," Loki confirmed with a nod. "Natasha Romanova. She transferred from a private Russian boarding school halfway through freshman year. Apparently learning table manners and ballet was beneath her."

Certainly a backstory, Bruce thought, though he kept his comment to himself. "Sounds… interesting."

"Yes, well, she does appear to have a flair for the dramatics," Loki responded, sounding slightly disbelieving. "Everything about her sounds like the plot of a Shakespearean performance."

Bruce tilted his head inquisitively. "So you think she's lying?" he said, somewhere in the middle of an accusation and a question.

"No, no," Loki quickly denied. "I merely think she may be… bending the truth, to an extent."

"Pretty much the same thing."

"They're very different things, I'll have you know," Loki denied indignantly.

The comment drew a small chuckle out of Bruce, and a sly grin out of Loki in return. "Whatever you say, rich boy."

***

As the bus drew to a stop in front of the school, Bruce frowned, and Loki looked equally as disgusted. Bruce was actually enjoying talking to someone for once, he might've actually made a somewhat friend. But now they had to go to class. Unless it was science, Bruce would be sorely disappointed. "Ugh. School," he commented bitterly.

Loki hummed in agreement as they both stood up. "It's horrible. What class do you have first?"

"Don't know," Bruce told him. "I need to go to the front office to get my schedule."

Loki glanced down at him. Now that they were both standing, the height difference was even more visible. "I'll come with you. I'd give anything to miss part of gym class. With my brother, it's torture."

"Gym? First period, first day back after summer? That's brutal," he chuckled, following Loki out of the bus.

"Indeed."

As they stepped out, Bruce looked up at the building. It was quite a modern structure with windows running from floor to ceiling covering the walls for all three floors of it. He had to hold back his jaw from dropping. How had his mother afforded to take him to a school like this? It certainly didn't appear to be a public school. He almost dreaded to think how his mother had managed it. Had she taken out a loan?

"What are you thinking about?" Loki's words pulled Bruce back out of his mind, causing him to look up.

"Uhm…" he struggled for words for a moment, absolutely not about to say "I think I'm too poor to be here." No, that wouldn't do at all. "How tall are you?" he blurted after a second. It could've been worse.

Loki stared for a moment before he scoffed in amusement. "Ah… I'm 6'2," he replied, looking down at Bruce.

"God damn…" Bruce muttered. "Someone hit the genetic jackpot."

"Yes, well, wait until you meet my brother," Loki commented, ushering Bruce inside slightly.

Bruce let out a small, breathless laugh as they stepped through the threshold of the school along with the bustling crowd of students. "I wasn't aware they made them any taller than you."

"Oh, you don't have the faintest idea."

***

Bruce trailed behind Loki, dodging through the crowds and trying not to get trampled by some of the other students, who appeared to be very eager to get to their classes. Many of them shot him looks, judging him from head to toe. He didn't particularly care much, though he did find it quite nice when Loki glared to scare them off. He was tall and rich—of course he succeeded.

The hallways of the building were long and thick, merging into one another like branches on a tree. It was a maze, and Bruce had no idea how he'd manage. He was almost entirely sure that he'd end up getting lost at least three times before the end of today. He might even break the record for getting in trouble the most times on a first day. So far, his record was two. He never really tried to get in trouble, he just did. It magnetized to him, much like bullies did, as well as dangerous chemicals. It was always just happy accidents, there was no question there. Still, with as large as the halls were, Bruce managed to get bashed around like a pinball the entire time.

Eventually, they paused in front of a large pair of glass doors at the end of the hall, automatically opening. Inside was a small waiting area as well as a reception desk and a thin corridor leading off to what Bruce could only assume was the principal's office. It made sense, given the location. At the desk, a woman sat typing at a computer, glasses magnifying her eyes in a way that would've been considered comical if they'd been any larger. At the sound of their entry, she looked up with a small smile. "Ah! You must be David!" she greeted.

Loki looked down at Bruce for a moment, thoroughly confused for all of five seconds before a shit-eating grin scattered across his face. "David?" he asked teasingly. "Your legal name is David?"

Bruce was thoroughly embarrassed. He went by his middle name for a reason. "Don't…. Stop it." he huffed with a sigh, gaze returning to the woman at the reception desk. "Yes, that's me. Just, please, call me Bruce."

She hummed for a moment before nodding, waving him over. "Alright then. I'll change it on the system when I get the chance." As she began to rummage through her folders, she sighed, and Bruce walked forward, leaving Loki to lean on the doorframe, still amused. "It looks like I've lost your schedule. Just give a minute, I'll print a new one out."

Bruce nodded in acknowledgement, tapping his fingers on the desk while she scurried over to the printer. This school was nice, too nice. Mom really must've had faith in him to get him into a place like this, and he couldn't disappoint her now. It broke him every time he did, but he just couldn't help it. They deserved it. He couldn't just let people bully him, not when no one else was there to help him. Not when no one else saw, not when no one else cared. He had to make them care.

"Here you go," the receptionist said as she placed the printed out schedule in his hands, folded neatly.

He looked up, slightly bewildered, and cleared his throat, taking it. "Uhm, thanks."

He span on his heel and walked out of the office, Loki starting up beside him. "Well, let's see what you have first, shall we?" he said with a grin.

Opening the folded paper, he read it. MONDAY || LESSON 1 || GYM || MR. HARVEY. He groaned, but Loki grinned. "Looks like your first ever class here is with me. We should be on our way, then."

Well, Bruce thought to himself, at least I know someone in my class. Then again, Bruce wasn't sure that anything could make up for a Monday lesson one gym class.

Chapter Text

The pair continued peacefully down the hall, Bruce simply following Loki, assuming he knew where to go, and, thankfully, Loki fell into stride beside him instead of making Bruce run to catch up with him. He knew he was a long-legged, abnormally tall fifteen year old, as was his brother, and usually he didn't make a bother of catering to other people's speeds, but for Bruce he could make an exception.

Bruce decided to take the quiet moments between their casual banter to observe. He wasn't observing anything specific; he was just observing. From the slightly darker stains on the gray squared pillars where gum had once been stuck, to the janitor outside, sweeping up autumn leaves on the ground for probably little to no pay. He had never liked that much. People who worked manual labor were almost always treated like they were lesser because they didn't spend unreasonable amounts of money and time getting a degree. Their jobs were just as hard as any other.

"We need to stop by my locker on the way," Loki told him after a second too long of silence had fallen between them. "Though it is almost directly next to the gym entrance, so it won't be much on the way."

"Alrighty then," Bruce replied, not too bothered. Just as Loki had expressed earlier, he was not all too fond of gym class either, so he'd gladly take anything to put it off even by a few moments.

His gaze traveled down. It fell on his shoes, mud-stained and battered but well-loved, and then to Loki's, visibly expensive and brand spanking new, yet not overly formal. Bruce felt embarrassed for a second. He loved his clothes, he really did, an he was pretty sure he'd rather pass away than dress like Loki, but he still felt bad that he'd probably never even have the option because he just couldn't afford it. Loki just made it so easy to forget how rich he was with him. He didn't act it, despite his formal language. He seemed far more down to earth than any other kid as privileged as him that Bruce had met. Bruce knew he probably didn't make it easy to forget that he was poor. He acted it, careless and wild with a disregard for the rules, even if he made no effort to break them.

He didn't have to worry for long, though. Loki elbowed his side, not hard enough to hurt but enough to get his attention, as the pair stopped in front of a locker. Loki fiddled with the combination lock, and Bruce's nose crinkled at the smell coming from down the hall: teenage boy sweat and despair. Definitely the gym.

Forcibly turning his attention away from the stench, he started to survey the contents of Loki's locker. It was certainly quite full, crammed with older books of all genres, textbooks and actual school supplies lying sad and forgotten at the bottom. He pulled out a bag, and Bruce's brow furrowed. "Oh, shit. I don't have gym clothes."

That caught Loki's attention. "Hm. Well, that's an issue," he noted. "I would offer you spares, but I don't have any."

"Probably wouldn't fit me anyway," he pointed out, causing Loki to hum in agreement.

"I'm sure someone else will have a spare set."

As the locker shut, Bruce nodded in agreement, and the pair began to head closer to the set of doors at the end of the hall. "Hopefully…"

Loki pushed the double doors open, having reached them before Bruce, and instantly distanced himself, expression turning to a slight scowl. He didn't take it personally, especially as all eyes turned on them.

"Mr. Odinson, Mr. Banner," the adult of the room began, who Bruce could only assume was Mr. Harvey, "you're late."

Loki scoffed, "I was taking the new student to get his schedule. He was running around like a headless chicken trying to find his way. Absolutely clueless."

Bruce shot him a glare that practically screamed "uncalled for!", though Loki ignored him and headed towards one of the two doors on the opposite end of the gymnasium, the one labeled "MEN'S." They must've been the changing rooms.

"Oh," Loki said, turning around just as he pushed open the door, "and he doesn't have a gym uniform. Do with that what you will." And then the door swung shut behind him.

Everyone in the room had a mildly bewildered and very curious look on their faces. After a moment, Mr. Harvey cleared his throat. "Well, Mr. Banner. It looks like you'll have to borrow a spare set of—"

"I have a spare uniform he can borrow," a loud voice called from someone in the class, echoes practically booming through the hall.

Everyone turned to the speaker. Bruce had to restrain his jaw from dropping. He was taller than Loki, though not by much, and was built like a brick house. His blonde locks were similar to Loki's in length, though just slightly longer, clipped a few inches longer than his shoulders. There were only two things in Bruce's mind: Holy fucking beefcake, and That uniform will not fit me whatsoever.

Mr. Harvey considered for a second, as if allowing it would end in disaster, before he gave a curt nod and waved the speaker towards the changing rooms, though Bruce followed too, scrambling to catch up, and, much to his pleasure, he seemed to be in no rush.

"You've met my brother, then?" the speaker asked.

Bruce nodded in confirmation, though his mouth was almost deathly dry. "Yeah. He always that personality-switchy with people around?"

The boy's laugh was resounding. It made Bruce chew on the inside of his cheek. No one had the right to be that attractive. "If he was even somewhat pleasant to you before, he enjoys your company a great deal. He's usually rather avoidant of people he does not tolerate," he explained, "and if you have somehow managed that, then I'm sure I'll enjoy your company just the same."

"You will?" Bruce asked, very much looking forward to that. With a frame like that, surely he had to have a personality just as attractive, right? Then again, maybe Bruce was asking for too much. And that was incredibly embarrassing. He quickly fixed his face, attempting to look less overly-eager. "I mean, uhm— Well, ah, what's your name?"

The other man grinned as he pushed open the changing room door lazily, holding it for Bruce to get through before letting it drop. His grin was different to Loki's. It was less conniving and more energetic. Loki was in the room, already done and scrolling through his phone, though he went unnoticed by his brother. "I am Thor Odinson," he greeted happily. "And you are?"

"I… Bruce. Bruce Banner. Nice to meet you." Bruce nearly stuttered, and was very ashamed of himself, cheeks flushed a slight pink. He trailed behind Thor and waited patiently for the uniform.

Eventually, Thor dug it out and dumped the pile of fabric into his arms. "It might be slightly large on you. The shorts can be adjusted, and it is already small for me," he explained. Then, he slipped past Bruce and headed to walk out. "I hope to talk to you again, Bruce." And then he was gone.

"You're just as enraptured as the girls."

Bruce was gaping for a good five seconds before he snapped towards Loki, who was now looking at him. "I am not "enraptured,"" he challenged, surrounding the word in air quotes. "I'm just— That's your brother?"

Loki hummed, clearly not believing Bruce at all. He looked back down at his phone. "You have my blessing to ask him out," he said dismissively.

Bruce glared harder. "I am not going to ask him out!" he screeched. "I barely even know him!"

"You have my blessing to hook up with him, then."

"No! Absolutely not!" Bruce complained, actual annoyance began to set in.

Loki, clearly picking up on it, began to reel back. "Only an offer," he retorted, raising his hands in surrender.

Bruce huffed but refrained from taking it any further, dumping his backpack into the free space closest to him, changing into the clothes. From Loki's snort, he didn't need to look in a mirror to know that he looked completely and utterly ridiculous. The waistband on the shorts was so large that he had to fold over the fabric when he tied it, but that barely mattered because the shirt came down to his mid thigh.

"This is humiliating," he muttered, stepping towards the door. Though, his hand hesitated on the handle, and he slowly looked back at Loki as he realized he was making no move to follow. "You coming?"

"I'm sure I can manage a few more minutes without stepping into that hellhole," Loki assured him, waving Bruce off. "It's not like he can put me in detention anyway, given the amount my parents give to this school."

Bruce simply nodded before he walked out, hardly acknowledging it. He'd learned that money got you everywhere long ago. It didn't faze him all too much, if only to make him a tad bitter.

***

When Bruce stepped out, he made a great show of keeping his eyes trained firmly on his sneakers and his red-tinged cheeks out of view. He wouldn't dare glance up, not to meet anyone's mocking gaze. He looked ridiculous in a shirt three sizes too big already, and now he was in front of people to make it worse. Though, thankfully, he made the educated decision to join the group of students, a handful of mutters and giggles suffocating him just slightly, and save himself from a scolding from Mr. Harvey too, which he was sure would've only exacerbated his embarrassment to the tenth degree.

The shrill ring of Mr. Harvey's whistle filled the room, and the students fell silent, looking up at him with varying amounts of eagerness. "All right, everyone. We're on track today, so make your way out onto the field," he instructed, herding the students to a door on the back wall.

Track? Well, at least it isn't a team sport… Bruce thought to himself. He'd never liked sports, but he held a very, very special hatred for team sports. They were too competitive and rough, and it was most certainly not his cup of tea.

The class chatted among their friend groups in hushed tones as they filed out of the door in huddles. It seemed everyone had a pre-established group except for Bruce so far, and, yeah, it stung a little, but he was used to it. It had been like this in his last school; he was only there for the last few months of the year, and, by that point, even the loners had settled into their own little club that Bruce didn't seem to make the cut for.

However, a large elbow knocking into his bicep drew him out of his self-pity, a wide grin on the owner's face. It was Thor. Of course it was. Who else was that big? "Don't look so miserable," he chided playfully without much real scolding. "You aren't friendless in this class. You have I and Loki… wherever he is."

"Changing rooms, trying to skip," Bruce informed him, clearing his throat slightly. Be normal, Bruce. "I would've joined him if I could risk getting a detention."

Thor quirked his head, peering down at him curiously. "Surely detentions aren't so big of a deal. Loki acquires them constantly and it appears to have no effect on his education."

Bruce pressed his lips into a thin line, nodding in recognition. With how big the clothes were on him and the pocket of heat around him they created, he hardly noticed as they left the heated gym for the bitter autumn scenery. "Yeah, well, for me, I'm pretty sure one detention could very well lead to expulsion pretty quick," he admitted. "I'll probably end up getting one for losing my shit on someone before the end of the week. I don't need to waste my possible one chance on skipping a class, as unbearable as gym is."

Thor's brows only furrowed further. "Why would you "lose your shit" on someone?" The phrase sounded foreign in his mouth, tongue unused to forming the words. Thor, even being the loud and ever so slightly reckless boy that he was, tended to speak with a slight sophisticated tone, similar to Loki's but more loose, and it was clear it was how the two were raised to talk.

"People like to bully me. A lot. I'm apparently a magnet for it. And it pisses me off," Bruce explained, his tone more than slightly bitter, "and, honestly, you've done a real good job of giving them ammunition for when they come." He made sure that Thor paid attention to the way he gestured at himself, or, rather, his clothing.

Thor bit his tongue for a moment, seeing how his clothing did not help Bruce's case at all. "…I think it looks rather charming on you," he said, trying to make the situation a bit better. To be fair, it wasn't exactly a lie.

Bruce just sputtered, cheeks going red just when they had managed to return to their normal shade mere moments ago. Before he could respond, however, he heard Mr. Harvey begin a countdown. Thor managed to get a bearing on what was happening before Bruce did because, at the blow of a whistle, he said, "I'll see you in a few minutes," and ran off.

Bruce glanced around. They were standing on a track. Everyone else was running. Well, shit. He started running too. He didn't bother to even attempt to catch up to Thor, however—the man absolutely bolted. He just hoped this track wasn't as long as it looked.

***

Much to Bruce's chagrin, the track was absolutely as long as it looked. In fact, he might've even gone as far as to say that it was longer than it looked. This was torture. He should've skipped with Loki. That was easily the correct choice. Fuck detention, fuck getting expelled, and especially fuck gym class. And, just out of the corner of his eye, he saw Loki jog leisurely past him, paying Bruce no mind but having a smug smirk plastered across his face, knowing Bruce was struggling to no end.

Bruce kicked dirt at his heels.

He wasn't even halfway around the track, practically wheezing as he clung onto the remnants of what used to be a jog but now turned to a somewhat sad, over-exaggerated speed walk, when he heard Mr. Harvey call, "Odinson one, five minutes three seconds!"

He absolutely gaped as he turned to look, and, sure enough, Thor had crossed the finish line and slowed into a peaceful jog as he caught his breath. Bruce was convinced this man was a miracle by now. He had the body of an underwear model, athleticism to match, he was friendly when talked to, and he seemed sweetly oblivious when he dropped compliments that made Bruce swoon (You can't blame him, everyone else attracted to men would too!). What a guy…

It was just surface-level attraction right now, of course, and Bruce would not be taking up Loki's offer to date his brother any time soon. There was a very good chance it would go away after he got used to his dazzling looks. That didn't stop him from admiring his muscles for a second, though, before he turned back to his pathetic, so-called run.

***

Somewhere between ten and a million minutes later, Mr. Harvey watched with an obvious look of disappointment as Bruce practically crawled to the finish line. It was pathetic, and Bruce knew it. He was far from athletic, and he did not need to be reminded of it. Then, with a sigh, a smile crossed Mr. Harvey's face. "Well, let's go again, shall we? See if you can beat your times."

Bruce swore he was going to be dead by the end of this.

***

Bruce had to quite literally be dragged into the changing rooms by Thor, though it was accidental. Thor just hadn't quite realized that Bruce's legs had given up on him yet. Bruce didn't mind, though. It was better than being on the ground.

When Thor set Bruce down in front of his bag before going to his own, and Bruce began to change. Slowly, with legs like jelly, but he succeeded in the end, wrangling the large clothes from his body and getting back into his own clothes. His shirt wasn't hanging off his shoulders anymore, and his pants were the right size again. Yay.

Slowly, Bruce made his way back to Thor, legs somewhat solid by this point. He just had to keep his eyes on his face and not his shirtless chest. "Hey, uhm, here 're your clothes back," he said, thrusting the uniform into Thor's hands.

Thor smiled and took the clothes, wiping the sweat off his brow with them. Then he placed them back in Bruce's grip. "You can keep them. Don't worry about it."

If Bruce was red earlier, he was scarlet, maroon, and every other shade of bright ruby red that you could think of. He shuffled back to his bag and sat down on the section of the bench it rested on, clutching the clothes until his knuckles were white—the only part of him that wasn't flushed beyond recognition.

""I'm not enraptured," he said," came Loki's teasing tone from beside him.

Bruce didn't know when or how Loki got there, but he couldn't bring himself to care. "Shut up."