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Bruce and Loki at home during the storm, January 24th

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With the first crack of thunder outside, Bruce goes about making sure the shutters are closed on the pharmacy's windows, locking the front door and setting it tight. One thing he's certainly glad for are the few candles he found in the process of cleaning the place up, so he gathers one and rigs a holder for it, then knocks on Loki's door.

"Loki? If that beast of yours will let me in, I have a candle for you. I don't think we should run the generator in this storm." There's a small fondness in the word 'beast'. Despite the fact he knows several of these beasts hurt and killed people, the one they have in their home seems to actually slowly be learning to behave itself. It still could be as foolish, stupid, and frustrating as any puppy, though.

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"Oh, he will let you in. Apparently thunder is not his thing." Which was why Loki had a bundle of blankets that once was a vicious channel dog. Loki is honestly kind of curious if he will turn into a blanket dog by the time the storm is over. The storm does not bother him; in fact, it reminds him of Thor. Thor is a strangely comforting thought. Logically, he remembers the time when his elder self and his brother were enemies. But recently, all he can remember is fondness.

Thor would keep him safe, if he were here. There is nothing to fear from his thunder.

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Bruce comes inside with the candle and a small pack of matches, putting them on the 'dresser', if it could be called that. He looks around for the pup but only sees a shivering bundle on the bed. "...Is he scared of the thunder?" He can't help the corner of his mouth lifting; even if he knows the thing is dangerous, it sometimes acts like a proper dog.

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"Apparently so. I keep telling him he is going to be a patchwork dog if he stays in the blankets like that, but he will not listen to me." Loki shrugs, though he gives the strange lump a smile.

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"I'd prefer if he left little piles of rags around than the pieces of metal or stone," Bruce mutters dryly, but he comes over and sits on the edge of the bed. "Vilhelm, you know Loki won't let anything harm you. Whether or not you harm something else is the better question..." He is amused at the whole situation, reaching over and patting the pile. "Come on out of there. Or better, come out when you've come a living stuffed animal for Loki."

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Vilhelm gives a high-pitched whine in response, as if he is pretty sure Bruce is a big fat liar and that if he dared come out, there would be nothing but pain and death. The patheticness of the situation makes Loki laugh. "He would be a really cute stuffed dog," he says. Vilhelm is not technically a dog, but they do not have anything better to call his species.

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"None of that, pup. Come out here. I'll grind under your chin if you do. Or scratch if it's turned to fabric by now." Bruce shakes his head a little at Loki's definition of 'cute'. It is, however, strangely adorable in its patheticness. He pats his own knee, trying to get Villie to come out. Loki might notice a bracelet wrapped around Bruce's wrist.

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While Villie slowly peeks his nose out from under the blankets (his nose has gotten softer, though not quite as pliable as fabric just yet), Loki notices that bracelet. Not only notices, but recognizes it; after all, he wore one. His eyes narrow, lips tugging into a frown. "Why are you wearing that, Bruce?"

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"There you are, Villie," Bruce says softly, reaching over and letting the odd not-quite-dog sniff his hand before he strokes over the nose, watching the reaction carefully. He isn't sure why, but animals usually take well to him; he had quite the collection of strays in Calcutta. Villie reminds him of the dog he had in South America in a strange way.

"Why am I wearing-" Bruce follows Loki's gaze to the bracelet, then frowns himself, and rubs it, slightly. "...Do you know what they do?"

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"I was wearing one when I showed up, so yes. You kept it?" Loki is not sure how to feel about that. Sure, he can understand why Bruce would want to have it on, but what if he needed the Hulk? Human beings were pretty fragile on their own.

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"I kept it and had Stark repair it. It's working just as it had before." Quiet, stroking Villie's nose. "Is there a problem with that?" He lifts his gaze to Loki. "I can remove it when necessary unlike when we came." Beneath his shirt sits the key on its chain.

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"You can? Oh, good." Loki's shoulders relaxed. "In that case, no, there is not a problem." As much as Bruce might not like the fact, Loki knew the Hulk could be very, very useful.

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"Oh good?" Bruce is more than a little confused. He doesn't have a great deal of memory about what Loki did with the Hulk, but really, he would think Loki would be happy the Other Guy is under control. "Why would it be a problem if I couldn't remove it?"

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Loki's response was cuttingly dry. "Oh, only that you are stuck in a dimension that is very fond of killing people off, and being able to turn giant, green, and invicible might be a good way to keep you from being tortured on the Network."

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Bruce holds up his wrist pointedly. "If they could put this on me, Loki, and contain a force like him? If they are determined to kill me, they will. As sick as that makes me. We watched a video of a young man's powers doing absolutely nothing to his murderer. They have... Terrible power over us here."

He drops his wrist, breathing out. "I would rather make sure I don't add to the death count by my own hands."

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"I guess we should just roll over and show our bellies like Vilhelm does to thunder, then," Loki quipped in return.

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Bruce's look is anything but pleased to Loki for that. "If I was doing that, I would have thrown the key away. I'm doing what I can to make sure they get as few deaths as possible, and right now, everything I'm doing is towards that."

He just wishes he remembered how he got from letting himself go near the mansion to his own home. There is simply no memory of it.

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Loki falls silent for a moment, considering what he knows of the Hulk of his time period (which is quite a lot, considering the number of times he has misled the being, not that he will offer that information). "Is your Hulk particularly likely to kill people? As in, I mean, has he killed innocents before for no reason?"

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Bruce takes this statement in completely the wrong way, unable to help but flinch just slightly. He takes a slow breath before he answers. "He has caused the death of many innocent people, Loki. Anyone who gets in his way is under threat if they do the wrong thing."

It's more than he can remember telling anyone other than Betty.

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"Just curious. I have seen multiple Hulks -- multiple you Hulks, I mean, let us ignore the others -- and they all are a little different." Because it is so easy to dismiss the fact he just admitted that his universe has more than one Hulk. "The one from my home universe kills, but only on purpose, as far as I can deduce. Causes plenty of property damage and likes to make people pee themselves, yes, but mostly he wishes to be left alone."

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Loki will there be any conversation you won't manage to shock Bruce. He blinks slowly at Loki, leaning forward. "Multiple me Hulks. Exactly how are these... other... Hulks," Betty's name for the brute still hangs foreign on his tongue, "different?"

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Probably not for some time. "Well, I already told you about the one from my world. There are some that are truly cruel. Some that are separate from your body. Some that have taken over your consciousness all together. Some are good, some are bad. That is the nature of having multiple universes: every potential is at some point fulfilled."

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Some that are separate from my body? Bruce shudders at most of what Loki says, rubbing a hand over his face. Suddenly, he just holds up a hand. "I think, right now, that's all I can handle on that front. ...But it gives me a lot to think about." More than a lot.

He lets out a breath, looking up as the thunder splits the sky again. "...your other self was afraid of thunder." As Tony had informed him after everything had gone down and Loki back in Asgard.

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Loki looks surprised at the words. "He is?" He looks out the window at the stormy skies, trying to delve into the memories of his first self, the one with all the anger and pain. Yet his own feelings seem to have made those old emotions fade, making them murky and hard to recall.

"... I might have been once. I cannot remember."

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I would be afraid of it if my brother was after me like that, Bruce thinks, but he keeps that very much to himself. "Maybe it's for the best," he chooses to say instead.

He leans back a little, looking upward as he thinks. "I spoke at length to Sherlock about what he knows of this place, and it's only getting worse. He knows something about the ritual this place started with, but he's sure that the ritual has changed, now."