My first crossover; I don't normally read or write them, but a loyal reader asked for it to help their IW-related trauma so I agreed to give it a try. I'll admit, the premise I came up with for it is pretty fun to play with so far.

Loki is in fact the Asgardian equivalent of 16. I've seen two separate posts where people did the math. Explains a lot, doesn't it?

Crash landing in a tree in a city park was not what Loki had been planning on when he allowed himself to fall from the Bifrost. Actually, he hadn't been planning on anything seeing as he didn't expect to survive it. But yet here he was, awkwardly sprawled among a handful of branches that he'd taken down with him, with no worse injuries than a split lip and a fractured wrist.

Well then. What realm was this, anyhow? First order of business, camouflage. Then exploring. A loose-fitting shirt and trousers and a jacket that toed the line between a robe and a trench coat seemed like a suitably generic outfit to tide him over until he got his bearings.

The clothing change seemed to have been not a minute too soon, as he was interrupted while healing his injuries by the approach of a man in maroon robes.

"You fall off your broom?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Don't be cute with me young man. We got a report of a person falling out of the sky and you're at the scene healing yourself by magic."

He supposed he might as well see how this one played out, although he still wasn't quite certain what the man meant about falling from a broom. "I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you, sir."

"Inconvenienced—what were you even doing flying around London? Are you even of age?"

London was a city in Midgard, but Midgard having magic was news to Loki. Which meant he had no clue how old one had to be to get their flying license, assuming that was what the man was implying. "I'm…sixteen?"

"Thought you'd sneak off on your broom instead of getting on the train to school then, did you?"

Well that at least he had an answer to. "No sir. I don't attend school. I've always had private tutors."

For a minute the man's expression had him thinking that might have been the wrong answer. Surely it was permitted to have tutors instead of attending school? But after a beat the man huffed something under his breath of which Loki only caught the word "privileged" and his spirits lifted. He could handle being taken for wealthy and spoiled, in fact that might even be for the best; he was a prince after all and that could explain away his knowing things that an ordinary boy his age might not.

"Where are your parents? Surely they didn't approve this stunt of yours."

"Dead."

"Oh. Um. Guardians?"

"Don't have any." Not anymore, anyway. Fuck Odin and his manipulative fake love.

"Well, I'd best take you to the Ministry then, and they'll get you sorted out. Someone to look after you until you're of age and all that." The man glanced around him shiftily before pulling a thin wooden rod from his pocket. A wand, really? They would send someone to investigate who was so weak a sorcerer as to require an item to channel his power? Even Thor could control his storms without the aid of Mjolnir even if he did still need it for advanced work. "Say, is that your cloak up there?"

Loki looked up. His cloak was indeed still hanging from a branch high in the tree. "…Yes."

"Accio cloak!" The cloak came down with a…squeak?

Spoken spells, too? Yikes. "Thank you." He swung the cloak back around his shoulders and out tumbled an indignant little black ball of fur.

"You brought your cat along?"

First of all, that was definitely a juvenile flerken.

"Well, I suppose he's all the family you've got left, huh?"

"Yeah." Loki cautiously picked up the creature, hoping he wasn't about to get eaten. "Can't exactly leave the little guy behind, can I."

"No you can't. Let's get you and—what's his name?— to the Ministry."

Loki eyed the tiny black hole chewing on his hair. "…Stowaway."