Author's Note: Okay! A warning for you all: This is NOT meant to be entirely character-and-storyline-accurate; just done for fun. Also, there may be a few OC's, and possible OC/Avenger or OC/Loki romance. Possibly not. Also, Clintasha.

That is all.

Chapter One: Sorted

Loki took a deep breath through his nose, keeping his green eyes shut. The air was thick and stifling, with every other first year packed into this same space, waiting for their respective turns impatiently. Anxiety polluted the air as their quiet chatter droned on in fierce whispers. A frown tugged on the corners of his lips. He wished they would be silent; he was trying to concentrate, to remain calm.

But of course, they would not. Loki sighed to himself. Honestly, they were behaving like children. They were eleven, not five. They could afford to show a little class…

No. No, they were babbling away, not a care in the world, buzzing about what, exactly, they would have to do to be sorted into separate houses. Loki had asked his brother this very question, but Thor never answered him honestly. It was too fun for Thor, to watch Loki worry, to pretend as though he would be forced to fight dragons, or drink disgusting potions that would guide him towards his correct house… it was all rather ludicrous, and Loki did not believe a single word of it.

Very few of the other children seemed to share his view on the matter; they had all given in to their worries, as opposed to merely waiting them out patiently. What was the use in worry? What happened, happened. There was nothing he could do to stop it, to change it.

Gryffindor.

The thought appeared in his head out of no where; but he knew better than to believe that this was a guide to which house he was meant to be in. This same thought had appeared in his mind many times since he'd first gotten his acceptance letter, and a thousand times more on the train. He wanted to be in Gryffindor. He had to be in Gryffindor. That was where Thor was, after all; and his brother never let him forget it. Every great hero seemed to have come from Gryffindor, every great legend: Harry Potter, for one. Ron Weasley. Hermione Granger. Professor Longbottom, too. So of course Thor was in Gryffindor. Thor was a hero. He was always meant to be a hero. He was brave, he was strong, he was kind…

He was everything that Loki was not.

The child shook the thoughts from his mind. No. No, he would not think such horrible things. He would be in Gryffindor. Mother always said he was brave, a little warrior, and father agreed… he was a hero, he was a hero, he was a hero…

"Worried?"

Loki's eyes whipped fiercely to whoever had decided to insult him this time. He was not worried. He was, perhaps, the calmest person here; save that little red-headed girl that he'd seen on the train. He'd noticed that she was now watching everything with an intense apathy.

The speaker was a blonde boy, tall for his age, taller than Loki. He looked broad-shouldered, a sharp contrast to Loki's thin, wiry frame. Despite how Loki had suspected that his words were an insult, there was a benign smile on his face, and a faint, lighthearted spark in his eye.

Loki scowled. "No," he shot back testily. "You?"

"A little bit," the boy admitted with a shrug. He seemed oddly… old, for his age. "But, it is kinda scary." He flashed a bright, white grin.

Loki fought the urge to roll his eyes and instead turned away. "I'm not worried." He repeated, narrowly avoiding adding the words, and I'm not interested in talking, either.

"Fair enough," The other boy did not seem disheartened by Loki's fierce attitude. He seemed to catch sight of someone he knew, or perhaps someone else that he wanted to 'cheer up', for he placed a hand on Loki's shoulder and said, "Well, good luck!"

Loki muttered something in response, and the other boy was gone. He closed his eyes again; at last, some peace and quiet…

"You didn't have to be so rude, you know."

Honestly?

The universe just hates me, Loki thought as he turned to the second speaker; a girl this time, tapping her toe on the floor impatiently, arms folded over her chest. She was small, smaller than he was, and even thinner besides. Her kind face was strangely at odds with her flashing, cruel-looking pale blue eyes.

"He was just trying to be nice," She added, pulling thin eyebrows together. "You didn't have to be so rude to him."

Loki opened his mouth and was about to answer when a loud voice called him and the other first years forwards; he clamped his mouth shut and turned away from the girl, walking with tight, stiff steps towards the door. The nerve of some people. He thought that he'd been fairly polite, given the circumstances.

His heart gave a nervous skip as he walked into the hallway, the other first years crowding behind him. Perhaps he was worried…

Bruce ran as fast as his legs could carry him; and that wasn't fast enough. Panting, he leaned against the doorframe, trying to keep the tears out of his eyes. He was lost. He was totally and utterly lost. His heart was beating too quickly, his mind racing too fast…

He forced himself to stand still, using the doorframe to hold himself upright, to support himself. He could barely breathe. Blood was still oozing out of his nose. His eyes were still burning with unshed tears. He had no idea where he was going or what he was supposed to do next. And something in the back of his head was beginning to wake up…

He groaned aloud and sank to his knees, falling down onto all fours and coughing, retching. For a long moment, that was all he could do; but once that stopped, he wrapped his arms around himself and, taking a deep breath, sat back on his legs and closed his eyes. He had to focus. He had to keep himself in control.

He was angry.

He was always angry.

Those boys who'd attacked him earlier, those third-year kids with their taunting laughs and immature snickering… they had no idea how close they'd come, how many inches away they were from death… Bruce shivered from head to toe, his spine quivering as sweat trickled down his back, his forehead, plastered his hair to his cheeks.

Because I am Death, he found the old mantra returning. I am Death personified.

He shook the words out of his brain. He wasn't death. He was just angry.

He had every right to be angry.

His hands clenched in tight fists. Breathe. That was all he had to do. Breathe, in and out and in and out, focus on the rhythm of his heart, focus on its beat. Change that beating; force it to slow down, so that it was no longer the sound of drums, the drums of war, but instead a calm, soothing lull… the ticking of a clock, even and relaxed and slow… Slower than a clock, one, two, three, four…

Slowly, slowly, he managed to force the back of his mind into silence again, keeping his temper flat and even and tightly controlled… One, two, three, four, he brushed the tears out of his eyes. One, two, three, four, he cleaned the blood off of his face. One, two, three, four, and he was standing now, slow and steady, relaxed and calm, make the world a safe place, a safer place, safe from him…

"Hey, kid," A voice said behind him; a hand found its way onto Bruce's shoulder, and he jumped, whirling around, arms raised to stop any coming blow.

"Woah, there!" The new arrival laughed, half-raising his hands in the air. He wore a brilliant grin and a thick jacket over his robes, despite how the night was still rather warm. "Take it easy, wouldja?"

For a moment, Bruce remained wild with panic; but he quickly stuffed that aside. He could not afford to panic. Slowly, hesitantly, he lowered his arms, watching the newcomer with wary eyes, scanning him up and down. The other boy had dark hair and eyes, and a pleasant-but-kinda-arrogant smile. His entire demeanor seemed careless and relaxed, like the whole world had just been placed here for the sole purpose of entertaining him. But he didn't seem like much of a threat.

"Playing hooky, too?" The other boy kept grinning at Bruce. He didn't give Bruce time to respond before he shrugged and said, "I don't blame you. The Sorting Hat's song was boring last year; why should it be any different now?"

Bruce only now realized that the two of them were walking again; that this boy had started moving forwards and, as a reflex, Bruce had followed. He blinked once, trying to figure out what to say… finally, as the other boy stopped talking for a second to give him a conspiratorial look, Bruce looked down and mumbled, "Actually, I'm lost."

The other kid whirled on him. "Lost?" he asked, confused. "How can you be lost? I mean, those teachers watched me like a hawk, how could you possibly-" He shut up abruptly as he caught sight of the red on Bruce's hands. Bruce tucked them behind his back quickly, but it was too late; the other boy's gaze had started scanning him, searching him, his eyes first narrowing in suspicion, then widening in realization as he saw the other bloodied places. Bruce had cleaned it up as well as he could with what little time he had, but it was still on his nose, his shirt, his lip. The other boy scowled.

"You're a first year, huh?" he asked. Bruce looked down, and the boy nodded. "Yeah, thought so. They caught you on the train, right? Before you could get out to the boats?" Bruce nodded numbly, not seeing another alternative but to tell the truth. The other boy's voice grew darker. "Who was it?"

Bruce shrugged. He didn't know any of their names, just like they hadn't known his. They'd just thought it would be fun, like any bully did. It wasn't the first time Bruce had been singled out for his strange habits: sitting alone, not talking to anyone, doing math in his free time. It probably wouldn't be the last, either.

"Let me guess," the boy said in a sarcastic tone. "Big blonde kid, third year, stupid nose, Slytherin?" Bruce looked up to him, startled; he didn't know what a 'Slytherin' was- he was Muggle born, and there were a lot of words that he didn't understand in this place yet- but the other things had been right on the money. Seeing the recognition in Bruce's eyes, the other boy sighed and nodded. "Yeah, I had some trouble with him, too. I'll talk to him for you."

Bruce eyed him dubiously. The only 'talk' that bullies understood was a fist to the face; and no disrespect to this kid, but he'd get pounded if he came within a few feet of this particular bully.

The other boy saw the look on Bruce's face and laughed aloud. Whipping something out of his robe pocket- a long, thin piece of wood- he said, "No worries, kid. Sooner or later, you'll figure it out for yourself; having one of these things changes the game entirely."

Bruce blinked, then slowly reached into the pocket of his own robe. He pulled his own wand out, looking down at it. The other kid grinned and laughed again, slinging an arm over Bruce's shoulders.

"That's the ticket," he said cheerily. "Come on, let's get you to the Great Hall. You'll probably miss out on the Hat's song- lucky you- but maybe we'll get you there in time to get sorted. Just…" he hesitated, then gave Bruce a conspiratorial wink. "Don't tattle on me, yeah? I kinda don't want to get in trouble on my first day back, y'know?"

Bruce nodded slowly. "Not a word," he promised. The other boy grinned again; he seemed to smile quite a lot, actually.

"Atta boy. What's your name, anyway?"

"Bruce," he answered. "Bruce Banner."

"Nice ta' meetcha, Bruce. I'm Tony Stark."

Thor watched as a second year led a younger first year up to Professor Coulson, explaining something in hushed tones. Professor Coulson quickly ushered the smaller boy up to the front, then continued announcing; only this time, though they had already reached the 'O' names, he announced what was obviously this newcomer's name: "Banner, Bruce!"

Thor frowned. He was nervous, though he would never admit it; and impatient. He wanted his brother to be sorted already. He had waited through all of those other names to reach this point and they were almost there…

He was almost positive that Loki would be sorted into Gryffindor. His brother had showed a great deal of bravery in the past. But he had also shown a fair degree of cowardice, and very rarely admitted when he did something wrong. But he was still brave when it mattered; that much, Thor had always seen.

Still… perhaps he would be in Ravenclaw. That would make sense; Loki was smart, a strategist. He relied very much on his quick wit, and Thor had caught him many times with his schoolbooks, trying to master magic that should have been far beyond him, even before he was sent to school. Yes. Ravenclaw would make sense.

But it would be nice to have his brother in the same house…

The hat had barely touched Banner's head when it cried out in a loud voice, "RAVENCLAW!"

As expected, there was a loud chorus of cheers and applause from the Ravenclaw table; the boy- a small, skinny, shrimp of a child- hopped down off of the stool nervously and headed towards the table, greeted there boisterously by the second year who had showed him in. Thor wondered if they would be so cheerful when his brother arrived at that very same table…

Of course they would. They always did. Even if Thor would be disappointed, they would naturally be excited to have a new member. Even one with a penchant for mischief like Loki; though they, of course, wouldn't know that at the time.

Thor waited with his breath in his throat as Professor Coulson continued with the 'O' names. He would not have long to wait, but it still felt as though it were an eternity. He had not thought that his brother's sorting would be as nerve-wracking as his own had been; but he had most certainly been wrong.

Loki, on the other hand, seemed perfectly calm and collected. Thor looked away, over to the Hufflepuff table, where Clint looked back. Thor had met him out on the field in the middle of the night, practicing archery, of all things. The two had become… well, not friends. Not exactly. But Thor liked him well enough, and the two frequently practiced archery together. It always reminded Thor of home, of Asgard. Of the place they had been before father had sent him and Loki here, under the guise of wizards, of mortals. They had been here for almost five years before they received their acceptance letters, had grown up on this world. Thor had learned to love this place, but still… it was nice to remember his true home.

Clint gave him a steady, reassuring nod. To this day, Thor wondered why the archer had been sorted in Hufflepuff, and not Gryffindor. The other boy was certainly brave enough… but then, he seemed the type that wanted to be underestimated; and people often did underestimate those in Hufflepuff. Perhaps the Sorting Hat had seen that.

"Odinson, Loki!"

Thor stiffened, his blue eyes whipping over to Loki. His brother seemed to be ignoring him, and the crowd that watched him, as he made his way across the stage with long, fluid steps. He was doing a very good job of hiding his nervousness, but Thor could detect the very slight tremor in his hands, even from this far away. He smiled very softly.

It'll be all right, he wished he could say. You'll be fine. No matter what, we will still be brothers.

Loki sat on the stool with careful grace, and waited for the hat to be lowered onto his head. As it touched, he winced slightly, as though expecting it to burn. When it did not, his face returned to its smooth neutrality.

The hat remained on his head for a very, very long time. Loki's face twisted a few times, and once, his mouth opened, as if in protest… then clamped shut again. Thor wrung his hands out in his lap. The hall was far from silent, but it began to feel that way as sound slowly began to die down, as more eyes turned to Loki in curiosity. Even those who had long ago stopped paying attention were now turning their eyes to the boy on the stool. It was unusual for any sorting to take so long. Not unheard of, but unusual.

And then Loki's eyes opened. He gasped, very quietly, but the sound went mostly unheard as the Hat cried out, "SLYTHERIN!"

Thor's heart stopped. His stomach twisted into knots, his entire body freezing up. The Slytherin table immediately began cheering, stomping at the ground, as Loki slipped down off of the stool and made his way towards them with slow footsteps. His green eyes were slightly glassed over, a little bit too wet… but he forced his feet onwards, stumbling only once as he made it to the table and sat down.

Thor couldn't take his eyes off of Loki for the rest of the Sorting; and, for a very long time, Loki could not keep his eyes off of the table. He twisted his hands, blinking a bit too often in an effort to fight back tears. Thor longed to go over to his brother, to hug him tightly, and suddenly, he wished that all of the bad things he'd ever said about Slytherin would just go away, wished that he could pick them out of his past and bury them, deep in the ground where they belonged.

You know all of the bad wizards came from Slytherin.

Hey, Loki, you like snakes, maybe you'd be best in Slytherin!

You know, Voldemort was in Slytherin, if you got sorted there, maybe the two of you could have been best friends!

Jokes. Jokes, nothing more. And still they burned through Thor like fire. How could he have been so stupid, so careless…?

Loki was on the verge of crying, his entire form trembling… All Thor wanted to do was walk over to that table and hug his brother, but he knew he could not…

Snape came from Slytherin, Thor tried to say across the suddenly vast distance between them. You know, he was a hero, a spy for Dumbledore. He helped save the world, do you remember? Heroes come from everywhere. Not just Gryffindor. You will be a hero, Loki…

Eventually, Loki jammed his fists into his eyes and turned to face the other first-years pointedly; but his gaze remained dull, lifeless. He wasn't paying attention, any more than he had been whilst staring at the table.

Only three times did mild interest cross Loki's face while he watched the sorting; the first, when a 'Rogers, Steve!" Was called. A blonde boy with a kind face, broad shoulders, and a suddenly-nervous smile stepped up, and allowed the hat to be lowered over his head. He joined the Gryffindor table soon afterwards, beaming away while Loki fought with a scowl. The second time, a single name later, when Professor Coulson shouted, "Romanov, Natasha!" A young girl with red hair and hard-edged eyes stepped up, placed in Hufflepuff. Clint welcomed her with a half-nervous smile; that was new. It was unlike Clint to be nervous about anything.

The third and final time, a brunette girl with a kind face but cruel, pale blue eyes stepped up, after her name, "Trace, Dune!"

The Hat was on Dune's head for only the briefest of seconds before it called out, "SLYTHERIN!" She gave Loki a harsh look as she passed him by, and Loki ignored her, watching the Sorting in silence… But no others caught his attention, and then the feast began.

Thor could barely eat- a rarity, for him- but Loki did not eat; merely turned his food about on his fork once or twice to make it look as though he had. Thor, though his fellow Gryffindors tried to make conversation, found that he could not tear his eyes off of his brother for even a moment. As the feast ended and the prefects gathered all of the first years together, Thor waited until they passed directly beside him before calling out his brother's name.

"Loki!" He hissed out, knowing that he would get into trouble should he speak louder. "Loki!"

He knew his brother heard. But Loki walked past him as though nothing was wrong; and the two were separated once again.

A/N: Coulson as a professor… I'm sorry… I just… I couldn't resist…

I STILL REGRET NOTHING!