Loki was falling. Falling through space with nothing to stop him. He’d long since lost sight of Asgard, of his family, of everything he’d known.

And so he drifted. He didn’t know how long he floated through the nothing, but just as he was beginning to lose himself, something changed.

The space around him began to heat up, and he began to move faster. Opening his eyes, he saw a planet. Not just any planet, though—Earth. His eyes widened as he was pulled in by the Earth, and soon he was hurtling toward the groud, faster than he could imagine, everything impossibly hot.

He landed on the ground with a whump, knocking all the breath out of him. He was in the middle of a field of some sort, the wheat around him charred and matted, though it was knee-high in other places.

Lokie couldn’t believe his luck. Of everywhere he could have landed, he’d managed to find Earth. He stood, noticing absently that his clothes were burnt away, and smirked. He looked one way, then the other, and began making his way toward some nearby woods. He would think of what to do there.

Something was wrong, though. He tried to conjure some clothes to keep off the cold autumn breeze, but nothing happened.

He tried again, with the same result. He looked around wildly, unsure what was happening. His magic wasn’t working. This had never happened before. Had Thor or Odin done something before he’d fallen?

But no… His oaf of a brother wasn’t smart enough for that, and his father didn’t have the time, or the heart.

So what was wrong?

A whistling behind him caught his attention. He turned, his eyes falling on a short, golden-haired man leaning against a tree. Loki’s eyes narrowed. He was sure the man hadn’t been there when he’d entered the woods. The man eyed him appreciatively.

“Bit lost are we?” He had a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Why is that any of your concern?” Loki snapped in reply. He didn’t have time to deal with…mortals? No, there was something different about this man. The god gave the man another look, speculative and curious. “You are not a normal man.”

“You calling me weird? Honey, I’m offended!” He didn’t sound it. He jsut sounded amused. A smirk played on his lips and his gaze never left Loki.

But Loki wasn’t focusing on his words or his tone. His eyes were widening as he saw…could they be…wings? “Who are you?”

“I go by many names…” the man replied mysteriously. His gaze shifted away from Loki for a moment, as if remembering, then returned. His face was an emotionless mask, a slight smirk still upon the features.

In an instant, Loki had him pinned against a tree, arm pressed against the man’s throat, unmovable, though the man fought against him with…considerable strength. Strength no Midgardian should have.

“I do not have time for your games,” Loki growled. “Who are you?”

“Th-they call me Loki!” the man gasped.

Loki—the real Loki—pressed harder against the man’s throat, and he gasped for breath. “Do not lie to me! You know that I am Loki! Are you of Asgard?” A sudden suspicioun caught him. “Were you sent to kill me?”

“W-what? No! I-“

“Who are you?!”

“My name is Gabriel! I’m an Archangel!” the man choked out.

Loki was dumbstruck, though he had still yet to move. “You’re a…”

“Yeah, an Archangel. God’s Messenger. Whatever you want to call me.” He squirmed a bit. “Care to let me go now?”

“Why did you say you were me?” the god inquired, eyes narrowing, still not fully believing Gabriel’s story. He loosens his grip slightly, though, allowing him to speak easier.

“Well…” he trails off, searching for words. “I’m not necessarily on the best terms with my family right now… I needed a slot to fill, and yours was open.”

“So you’ve been impersonating me?” Loki’s face darkened. “For how long?”

“Oh, a…couple hundred years or so?”