Hero (Loki & Avengers)

One

"Great." I sigh, realizing the stupid lock is jammed again on our front door handle. I force the silver key into the knob and twist it with all my might while shoving against the door with my shoulder, and after a few failed attempts the splintering green wood finally bursts open.

I walk inside to an empty house as usual, since my mom rarely ever gets out of work early enough to see the sunset. I throw my schoolbag off of my shoulder and onto the dining room table, then toss my keys onto the kitchen counter where they land with a loud thud. They stop skidding next to a piece of paper I didn't notice before. A note from my mother.

"Cassidy-

the hospital needs me late tonight so just heat up the leftover Chinese in the fridge for dinner!

love, Mom"

I let out another sigh at the thought of more leftovers and crumple the note in my hand before tossing it into the garbage. I walk over to the fridge and pause before opening it, catching myself staring at the magnetic photo of my father in his Navy uniform smiling back at me, his eyes green like my own. My mom always insists on keeping it on the fridge. It's been four years since he passed; she still hasn't healed.

I blink and shake my head to clear thoughts of my dad from my mind and open the fridge to reveal a few sad looking containers of barely edible chicken and soggy noodles. No microwave could fix this. I scrunch my nose up, making a face at the food, before promptly throwing it into the trash as well. I'll figure something else out.

Just as I begin rummaging through the cabinets for something to make myself, my best friend Dylan comes walking through the front door, letting the screen slam with a loud thud behind him.

"Cas, I need you." He says immediately, pacing back and forth in the jittery way he tends to do when he gets anxious or stressed.

"Was it school, your dad, or your girlfriend?" I ask, because usually its one of those three things that puts him in a bad move. I would never say this to him or to anyone, but every time I ask him a part of me hopes it's the last one.

"Let's just say it's everything." He replies as he walks out towards the backyard, not even bothering to make sure I'm following him because he knows I am. We have our routines down after a lifetime of living next door to one another.

"Enough said." I nod, shutting the cabinet doors and heading into the backyard behind him. I walk over to our shed and grab the equipment, tossing him the white roll of tape for him to tape up his hands with. I slip on my punching mitts, thankful I got new ones because I have a feeling he's going to be throwing extra hard punches today judging by his already clenched fists.

"Okay, you ready?" He asks me, putting his hands up in sparring position by his face.

"Please, I could block your punches in my sleep." I tease him with a smile, throwing up my hands as well. He cracks a one sided grin before refocusing, and then the spar begins.

Dylan throws jab after jab at the pads on my hands, and when he gets too cocky with his throws I'm able to land a few taps with my pads on his chest just to keep him on his toes. This is one of the ways we cope with the world. My dad had been teaching me how to box since I was a little girl, and when me and Dylan were eleven or so he asked my dad to learn as well, so I gained a new partner. At first I could beat him with ease, but he got stronger than me very quickly, so now we more use each other to let off steam than actually fight.

I don't mind being his punching bag at all, I'd do just about anything for him.

I can tell by the sweat already forming on his forehead that Dylan may be losing himself to his thoughts a little bit, because his punches feel more forceful than normal. I'm good at boxing and I'm definitely not a weak girl, but he's very angry, so he's definitely hitting a little bit too hard. He sends one throw down more than I was expecting and hits the palm of my pad straight on, sending a jolt of pain through my palm and wrist that I hope won't sprain me.