NOTE: I, without doubt, fucked up all the Norse Mythology beyond redeemable standards. Forgive me.

Jack has believers. He's just not looking in the right place. ["Believe?" Loki looks amused. "We conceived the thought of you before you were even born."]

In a different realm, where science cannot fathom magic, and gods tread among a city of their own making, a legend was born out of whispers and the roar of the winds. The son of the North Wind, of blizzards and winter, and the epitome of age, was born among the living, and intricate patterns of frost deigned the surface of glass. A mischievous jolly character, unless provoked, he was a popular figure among the people, and if you couldn't see him, well, that was the point. Faith and legends rarely hold any real merit, and the Man on the Moon must gather his material from somewhere.

Across time and space and everything in between (for there is no real distance in Time or Death, no center or straight lines, dies-died-will die), across dimensions, a boy takes his first breath above water, stares up at the moon with a strange knowing, of who he is and will be, but not what he was, watches his breath frost in the air, and feels, strangely, empty.

Jack Frost, a voice whispers, and he doesn't know it but that was his last real breath. All the warmth is leaving, and he will never see his breath frost the air again. But for now, he laughs and rushes to the nearby village, because he is Jack Frost and alive.

The winds exist here, and everywhere the air touches. The winds can take you anywhere, is Frost's first realization, because if anything exists for him it is the wind. It looks after him and helps him bring winter where winter does not belong, not yet, but the wind is a guardian, a friend, and everything Frost should need. But mortals are greedy, and Jack misses something he doesn't remember. Which is sad, because he is undoubtedly not a mortal and missing something you don't remember hurts. So he plays pranks so people will acknowledge him, in a twisted sort of way, and mutter about bipolar weather.

He laughs because he is Jack Frost, and he doesn't remember anything else. There are others like him, in a vague sort of way, but he doesn't like them much. If you can be seen, why in the world would you try to hide? He knows the answer, because people Believe in them, and they are secure in that knowledge, but curse the wind if Frost is not bitter under all those smiles.

So Frost angers the bunny, tries to break into the North Pole, avoids the Leprechaun, and doesn't even know the rest of them. Except for the SandMan, Jack doesn't have real want for them. Not yet. The wind is his only wanted companion.

And the wind takes him everywhere, if he's willing to listen. You see, because the winds are Wind, and North Wind, and Everywhere the air touches. Like the other realms that Jack's never heard of, but should, it is where he got his name after all. If you twist just right, when the wind wraps around you like family, and you are willing the wind to take you somewhere new, and your name is Jack Frost, well there's just a small chance the wind will pull you through to another realm entirely. (The Man in the Moon does not even know the complexity of what he did when he stole Jokul Frosti from the realm, and how faith, no matter how altered, is still faith and Jack shares a name with his ancestor of an ancient civilization).

The wind wraps around him and pulls him through time and space, and it only takes a rush of rough winds twisting like a tornado before Jack lands on his feet and the stars twinkle. Jack takes a deep breath, straightening and frowning. He takes a moment to look around, before he realizes what has happened. Because Jack has scoured every inch of dirt and water in Earth, and three hundred years is an awfully long time. He's not on Earth anymore, for that he was certain.

A beautiful garden stretches out before him, plants Jack has and has not seen before assorted around him. It is empty. Carefully, Jack follows the trail beneath him, and takes care not to frost anything. He's not entirely sure he's safe here. Hope is a miserable feeling in the pit of your stomach when you know you shouldn't have any. What chance would they have of seeing him? The people of this world are not any different, he's sure.

But. But he did tell the wind to take him somewhere new, and maybe, just maybe the wind knows what else he was asking for. Or he's putting too much faith into this accident, but things happen for a reason, or someone had told him once. He doesn't remember who, so it's not a good sign he should want to. (He tells himself this to dull the painful sound of forgetting).

He falters when he hears someone rustling in a tree in front of him, and tightens his hold on his staff when something drops from the shaded branches. A boy, not that far from his age as appearances go, lands on his feet and straightens with lithe movements. He has dark sleek hair, pale skin, and dark circles under his green eyes. A book is tucked under his fingers, and in the other hand is a red apple. Jack blinks when they make eye contact, but of course they didn't because he's invisible just like he'll always be and-

"One of Thor's other friends, I presume?" The boy queries lightly, and there is a certain lilt to it that suggests condescension and snottiness, or what Jack gathers from it. But he's too shocked to linger on that information.

The boy frowns at Jack's reaction, or lack of, and shifts almost self-consciously. "What?"

"You can see me?" Jack asks slowly, stepping closer and the other boy looks mildly disturbed. Jack takes a deep breath when the boy's eyes follow his movements cautiously.

"I'd rather not," the boy answers, eyes flickering behind him, "but, yes."

"You can see me," Jack breathes, laughing almost deliriously, and hopes it isn't some cruel dream.

"Quiet down," the boy reprimands, "or Thor will know where I am." You lunatic, is the silent add-on. Jack clears his throat, and tries to smooth his features.

"Thor?" Jack asks, and steps closer in a subtle manner. He just needs to confirm that this guy was real, wasn't some hallucination after many years of mental torture.

The boy stares for a moment before offering a dry answer. "The Prince of Asgard. I'm surprised you haven't heard of him."

Jack chuckles, "I'm a little new here."

"Clearly," the boy drawls, and narrows his eyes when Jack is finally close enough that the tree's shade covers him as well.

"This sounds stupid," Jack says, "but are you real?"

"Not as idiotic as my brother's daily antics, but no doubt that is a stupid question." A pause. "I would hope so."

"Me too." Again, that disturbed look, and Jack tries not to laugh.

"The name's Jack Frost. And you are?" Jack says, offering his hand for a polite shake. Loki glares at the hand before his facial features grow carefully blank, like something has just registered.

"Loki." He doesn't take his hand. Jack forgot he didn't have any free hands. That was a safe explanation. "What are you doing in the Royal Garden, Jack Frost?"

"Royal Garden? Apologies, I didn't realize you were royalty."

Loki shrugs. "They often don't, or at the very least acknowledge it when Thor's around."

"Thor?"

"Brother," Loki says, sounding slightly annoyed, and Jack nods hastily to show he understood. So Loki was a prince. Was he supposed to bow down or something?

Loki, looking bored, takes his first bite of his apple. Jack watches, not creepily or anything, but Loki takes offense anyways.

"Refresh my memory, I don't recall you ever telling me why you're here."

"Long story," Jack dismisses.

"It's a long day," Loki smirks, and Jack frowns.

Finally, "Well, it all started around three hundred years ago-" (Loki didn't ask for a life story, but he seemed patient enough). He voices his thoughts about how Loki sees him, how Loki can believe in him if he's never even heard of him, but Loki is silent.

After he's finished, the day is almost ending and they both end up sitting and chewing on fallen apples. Or at least Loki does, Jack just throws one around for entertainment.

"Tell me, Jack Frost," Loki starts quietly, and slants a scrutinizing look at him, "does the name Jokul Frosti hold any sentimental value to you?"

"Sounds like a twisted version of my name."

"On the contrary, it is the exact opposite."

Jack blinks.

"Believe?" Loki looks amused. "We conceived the thought of you before you were even born."

Jack is confused. To be fair, anyone would be. Millions of questions run through his head, some of them intelligent sounding, some of them not. Like-

"What?"

Loki just chuckles. It's not an entirely pleasant sound, but Jack takes what he can get.

NOTE: I like this one a lot. This focuses on "friendship" (Loki's at that stage in his life, yknow) between Loki and Jack but there are a lot of other characters. Also, this will extend to AVENGERS universe with notable differences, so yeah. Reviews would be lovely. :)