Given the circumstances of what was going on, Loki had been doing his best to avoid people as much as he could with some rare exceptions. There had been a mother and her two children that he had come across and helped for a few days, all of them in desperate need of food and medicine. They had set off in much better shape than he'd found them, grateful for his help and hopefully on their way to someplace safe. After that it had been brief interactions with a few individuals that had also taken refuge in the area though Loki was not familiar with any of them.

The last thing he expected, or even hoped for honestly, was to see his brother or his parents again. (And not even because he'd always had a bit of a rocky relationship with the latter.)

He'd only just returned from a supply run, moving about his stolen home as silent as ever. The kitchen was carefully stocked with cans and jars that he'd collected from surrounding houses and the shops not far from the residence, produce tucked neatly into bins and ready for use for that night's meal. It was there he'd been kneeling when he'd gotten that feeling of something close by, the young man pausing, frowning before rising and moving through the house towards the entrance.

The hunting knives he'd found near the start of this fallout were snagged from their place on a pillow near the stairs and Loki stepped out onto the porch--

Only to freeze as he came face to face with his brother.