"Loki Laufeyson," he says, proffering a hand.
The other squints at him, ignoring the hand. "What a coincidence," he says finally. The scars around his mouth twist in a smirk.
The Jötunn returns the smirk, and there's something in the expression that makes the other consider taking him seriously. The shady-looking man drops the smirk and frowns instead. "You aren't one of the European ones, are you?" He seems to know the answer already.
Loki—the Asgardian one—shakes his head. "No need to concern yourself. I'm not poaching off of your belief pool. I'm from a different universe entirely. My kind don't work the same way that yours do."
"Hm." The other man removes his hat, showing a shock of carroty hair. "In that case, it's my very great pleasure to make your acquaintance," he says with a leer. "I'm sure you already know my name." He pulls a white card seemingly out of thin air and hands it to Loki Laufeyson.
Low-Key Lyesmith, your favorite agent of chaos, the card reads.
Loki pockets the card, a small frown shaping his mouth. "How did you do that?"
Lyesmith is confused. "How'd I do what?"
"You pulled that card into space without using any perceivable magic," Loki says, visibly unnerved.
The con-man cracks a wide, scarred grin. "You don't have legerdemain in your universe?" At the Jötunn's confused look, he elaborates, "Ya know, coin tricks? Three-card Monty? Vegas magicians?"
"Ah." Loki nods in understanding. "Sleight of hand. Isn't that beneath you?"
Lyesmith snorts. "A god's got to take what he gets, these days. If it's a con what's going to pay the rent, I won't be one to complain. I'm not getting by on pure worship here in the States, that's for sure. And not all of us have magic. I don't suppose that'd be something you could teach me?" he asks, face serious.
Loki considers. This is, after all, himself, in a manner of speaking. And it couldn't hurt to have another self indebted to him. "Well…"
There are ways that lead off of Yggdrasil's branches, if Yggdrasil is indeed a tree. The universe that Loki comes from comprises more than just Yggdrasil, however. Using his own self-made roads, he can reach other like worlds, otherwise only reachable by centuries, even millennia, of space travel in the physical world.
But there are places in existence—though not necessarily this existence—that cannot be reached by foot, or barge, or starship. Or even by such contraptions as Asgard's Rainbow Bridge. There are other forests, if you will, and in order to reach these one need be a trickster god, or something of the sort.
After a bit of experience, it's become much easier to find his dimensional analogs. Now that he knows what he's looking for, he can recognize that subtle tug at his senses, a feeling that eases the tingling discomfort he generally experiences in other universes. He knows he doesn't belong, and so does the universe. The fabric of his being yearns for something familiar, and so it pulls towards his counterpart in each 'verse, his analog, the Loki native to that place.
The first time he'd met another Loki was in a universe very close to his own.
This other Loki is nearly the same as himself, and is in fact identical in appearance to him. This entire world is, in fact, comprised of the same cast of characters as Loki's Yggdrasil is.
Loki visits with his counterpart, finding him living on Asgard. It turns out that having a conversation with one so like oneself is disorienting and actually quite unpleasant, for both parties.
He leaves soon after, being careful not to be seen by the palace Einherjar—or worse, Odin, or Heimdall—but not before extracting a promise from his other self to keep his visit a secret.
Though they share appearances and, for the most part, character, the timeline in this universe seems to have played out rather differently than in Loki's own. His analog has never discovered his true heritage, never fallen from the Bifrost bridge, never become the unwilling pawn of Thanos the Mad Titan.
Out of curiosity, he visits the other-New York after leaving the other-Asgard. On the front page of a newspaper he sees a picture of the Iron Man, Tony Stark, but Stark Tower itself appears undamaged, rising cockily in the heart of the metropolis. Nowhere is there any sign that the Chitauri have ever invaded this city.
He fast tires of these kinds of world, the ones too like his own. He decides to move on, to wider horizons, because of this, and because there is just the smallest sliver of fear, close to his heart, that he could become lost in one of these worlds that are almost his. It'd be too easy to off his counterpart here, after all. He's older, courtesy of his time spent in the warped fabric of the void between worlds, after his Fall. He's seen more, become more disillusioned, and less innocent. This world's Loki would never see him coming, if he decided to usurp his place.
But actions have consequences, and Loki's actions over the past few years, the ones that have really made him unlike the Loki he's just met, aren't ones that can simply be thrown away. He knows that, after the initial relief of shaking off his old burdens, his victory would become sickening. And besides, the multiverse would be less one Loki.
His internal reasoning, logical as it might feel, doesn't make him any less reluctant to go.
There are clusters of universes, and there are clusters of clusters, and there are clusters of clusters of clusters. Or, to put it another way, there is a never-ending system of branches connecting similar universes, as if Yggdrasil itself is analogous to a greater multiversal tree, or perhaps a web.
So just as the particles that make up an atom form a microcosmic version of a classical solar system, so do the many worlds that make up Loki's universe form a model of the many universes that make up… whatever is really out there.
For all Loki really knows, this structure of system inside system inside system proceeds unto infinity. Whenever he steps off the edge of a universe, he feels a sense of fear and awe that comes from knowing just how big—and how small—everything really is.
In this particular world, he's a child. Or at least, he thinks so. This universe's Loki—"call me, Luke, though"—looks like a teenager with hair like flames sticking out of his top. Loki briefly wonders why, in the worlds that are not so close to his own, his analogs seem to all have red hair, and decides that he himself—and the other like Loki Odinsons or Laufeysons of Asgard—is probably an anomaly.
Also among his differences is his Frost Giant nature. He's met other Jötunn Lokis, and actual godly Lokis, but most of them seem to have affinities for fire, not ice. Luke, for example, seems to spend an inordinate amount of time making little multicolored fire squiggles that have no visible purpose whatsoever.
For an apparent child, however, Luke's got a slightly more unusual sense of humor than most boys.
Later—eight burnt-out buildings later, to be precise—this world's Odin, called Woden, catches up to them.
"Hey, listen," Luke says to Loki, breathless, as they run through someone's garden. "I can't keep up with you. Can you, like, distract him while I go hide?"
"I could conjure an illusion of you and I running in a different direction," Loki offers between breaths.
Luke shakes his head immediately. "Nah, he'll know. Come on, I only need a few minutes."
"What do you expect me to do if he or someone else from your pantheon catches up with me?" Loki says tautly. He doesn't want to leave too wide of a wake in each universe he visits, and fighting a group of gods, no matter his chances of success, is one of those things that tends to leave quite a lot of damage.
Luke tries to shrug while running, and fails. "Just… pop back into your native universe, maybe?"
Well, there is that. Loki considers as they hop a fence and emerge onto a street. "Fine. It's a pity, though. I was actually enjoying myself until that old bastard showed up."
"He's not that bad once you get to know him," the kid protests.
"I think I'll pass on that," Loki says.
They split at the next intersection.
"It was nice meeting you!" Luke calls over his shoulder before he disappears around a corner.
Loki's understanding of dimensional analogy is something like this: There are supra-cosmic forces that link the infinite worlds, that cause something like very great coincidence to occur between each very separate universe. It means that there is some not-quite tangible plane on which they all meet. It means that the space between universes, the space between forests of worlds, is real, and that when Loki travels through it, he is touching something far greater than any terrestrial or cosmic event anyone has dreamed of.
The inter-dimensional constants necessitate that there be a Loki in each universe. This is, of course, only an educated guess, since Loki has only visited the tiniest fraction of the universes in existence. But every time he's landed, so to speak, he's felt that inexorable tug toward his counterpart, whether he heeds the pull or not.
Of course, some analogies are more accurate than others, and Loki isn't always, strictly speaking, Loki.
He visits a distant universe where he's some kind of Olympic deity called Hermes. Personally, Loki thinks that this ass-kissing version of him is a pretty sorry excuse for a supposed trickster archetype, but this isn't his world and if this is the best this place can do for a Loki, he's not going to let him bother him. He doesn't have to live here, after all.
He regrets trying to have a discussion with this self at all. Some people just have no sense of subtlety.
Later, he recalls the fact that there is indeed a Hermes involved in his Midgard's mythology, though this one is purely fictional.
The fact nags at him.
Everything changes, but nothing is truly lost.
There is always a Brother.
There is always a King.
There are always lies and betrayals and tragic misunderstandings.
(There is always the apocalypse, but that tends to come later)
There is always destiny, and the attempted avoidance of it.
And inevitably, there is also a Fall.
He's become attuned to the way things feel in different universes. Everything always feels just slightly off, slightly skewed, and each in a different way. So when he lands this time, he's puzzled, because he can sense elements from two faintly different 'verses here. At first he thinks that perhaps the people here have invented mass interdimensional travel, but a quick one-day survey reveals that this place is actually very similar to the Midgard of his own universe, with similar geography, peoples, and technologies. However, the magic here is very different. It's only when he follows the pull towards his analog that his questions are answered.
The sign above the massive cathedral in the middle of this world's Los Angeles has one word on it: Lux.
There are no doors providing entrance here, strangely enough. He goes in anyway, because he's Loki, and he does what he wants, and since when has the lack of a door ever stopped him?
Not half a dozen steps in the door, he is met by a gleaming sword to the neck.
Loki's eyes follow the blade up to its holder and are greeted by the sight of a woman wearing a mask covering the left side of her face and a fantastic scowl.
She drags him up some stairs without saying a word, and he goes along with it. It's not like he can't pick himself up and go home any time.
She drops him to the ground in a room on the second floor, and it's here that he understands where the strange dual-universe feeling he's getting is coming from. In the middle of the room, there is a large rectangular space, so bright that it hurts his eyes even in his Aesir form. But through the portal… there's actually another universe. It's not just a door to another co-universal realm, but a gateway that joins two very essentially different spaces.
Loki isn't given much time to contemplate the existence of this strange portal, because not a minute later, his analog steps through.
"News, Mazikeen?" the newcomer asks of the woman standing behind Loki.
"I found him on the bottom level, my Lord," is the response. She shoves Loki forward. Unfazed, he throws a playful grin over his shoulder. The half of her face that is visible remains as inscrutable as the masked half.
The man who's stepped through the doorway doesn't appear to be much different from Loki's other analogs, at first glance. His hair is the customary ginger, and it looks like wildfire. He's of a height with Loki, unlike most of the Lokis in other universes, who are either short, even compared to humans, or actual giants.
The wings, though. Those are different.
"My name is Loki Laufeyson," Loki says before he can be asked.
The woman behind him steps into view just long enough to slap him, before retreating from his line of sight. He refrains from turning his head.
"You were not given permission to speak," he hears her say.
He waits for some sign of recognition to show on his analog's face, but the other only narrows his eyes.
"I know a Loki. You're definitely not him," he says finally. And then, with an interested gleam in his eyes, "You're not from around here, are you?"
Loki's taken aback, and then tremendously pleased, because this is the first time he's met an analog who's discerned his nature before he's told them himself.
"No," he admits. "I come from a place very far from here." And he begins to explain.
One hour later, Loki and Lucifer are hunched over a table on Lux's ground level. Loki has drawn up a chart summarizing the similarities between their dimensional analogs in other universes.
"Even considering the relatively small size of this sample, this is evidence of something that … disturbs me," the Morningstar says reluctantly. Loki meets his eyes and nods for him to go on. "I've spent nearly my entire existence trying to escape predestination. I had thought that, with Yahweh departed, this would no longer be a problem. It seems that there is a power greater than Yahweh at work here, however. If I—and you, and everything else, of course—conform to such a similar pattern, no matter what universe we are in, it means that we are only slight variations on a standard model. This reeks of some kind of grand scheme. And, as a rule, I have a strong disliking for those."
Loki straightens and crosses his arms. "The problem here is different from the issue of predestination. Predestination governs actions and events, even accidental ones. What we're looking at right now are connections of self. To rebel against these connections, you'd need to be not like yourself. It makes the puzzle a bit more difficult, doesn't it? You can choose not to be yourself and attempt to defy the forces at work here, or you can choose to conform to those same forces by doing exactly what you would do anyway. And if what you would do anyway is defy, is it truly defiance, or conformity?"
The other man scowls. "I cannot combat my own nature. I doubt that you could do so for long, either. But there are other issues here than the issue of identity. These connections," he taps Loki's table of similarities, "are certainly relevant here, but though you and I may be directly analogous to one another in our respective universes, there is a certain suspicious coincidence in the fact that there is also a Loki in this world that is not like you, despite some clear similarities."
The Jötunn blinks. "Hm. Of course. My universe also has a Devil figure called Lucifer, and a God called Yahweh, though they are strictly limited to the pages of Midgardian religious texts."
"There is more than one kind of thread running through the multiverse," Lucifer muses. Loki concurs. They exchange a glance.
"So. What are we going to do about it?"
The trickster and fallen angel lapse into a thoughtful silence.
And then they begin to plot.
A/N: I have a lot of notes for this fic, but they're going to stay where they are on AO3 because formatting. See my profile for a link to my AO3 account.