If you haven't noticed, I like short drabbles. A lot.
Truth be told, he had intended to die. If not, at least have been incapacitated in some way- and then he would be free of this painful burden.
Loki went into battle fully knowing this.
A long time ago, when he was still young and inexperienced, albeit very, very talented, he had a passion for getting himself into all sorts of things that would ultimately lead to his downfall. (Literally- he did not fall off the Bifrost; rather, he jumped, but he still fell into the greedy claws of the Chitauri.) He paid a very big price for such a treacherous gift, so terrible it could be considered a curse instead. Loki did not know whether he regretted it or not. It had proven itself useful, but also caused his spiral to the darkness (or insanity, if he was feeling generous, ha ha.)
People did not trust those who saw too much and told too little.
This time, he saw the barest glimpses of the future- shrouded in the crimson of the Aether, it was difficult to decipher- and when he unraveled the threads from the red, he saw his once-brother grieving. For him.
Loki did not know whether he was happy in some sort of twisted way that he was finally getting the death he wanted (deserved) so long ago.
Of course, things never went his way.
Aesir are very hardy- so are Jotuns. They do not succumb to trivial wounds easily, though more often than not, the 'trivial' wound had some kind of venom in it. Their enemies had long discovered what was lethal to them.
Then again, the Silvertongue was the actors of actors, the liars of liars, the sharpest of the wittiest tongues, and so well versed he was in that art he was able to tell the difference between the lie and a truth as well. (The Russian spy, the fiery haired mortal, no matter what she thought, did not fool him- he did lack conviction at the time, but in no way was his ability hindered by this- she was a mere amateur compared to the length of lifetimes he had lived.)
Loki did not favor planning strategy ahead of time, one of the many lies others believed about him. Instead, most of his decisions were sporadic, and made up on the spot. So instead of dwelling on this, he decided to just go along with whatever happened.
Therefore, he was quite prepared for what happened- it hurt very much- and Thor was always ever so considerate, and stomped around with his usual ungracefulness. (of course it hurts, you dolt!) Loki's concentration was cracked, but he managed to work the minimum of healing spells, and casted an illusion over himself, which made his blood turn black, tainted with poison. The pain was not entirely fake, however, and neither was his remorse- he knew very well this could be the last time he saw his brother. He let his Frost Giant form rise to the surface, and instantly felt the slight chill from the ashen wind of Svaltarfheim seep away from his bones.
Through a little of one of his persuasion spells he loved so very much, and even if he promised never to use them on Thor, who would remember? he got Thor to leave his body behind. Instead, he lay there as Thor left, along with the golden aura that seemed to surround him, and let the frigid drops of anger and grief Thor left behind in the place of his gold splash in his skin. It felt cold, but it did not attack him so viciously as it was prone to do in his (fake) form, and was soothing instead.
Loki gets up as soon as Thor leaves, and he stands there for a moment, and he lets the calming, steady rhythm of the rain etch into his bones. He could not, would not, ever fathom how Thor was born with the ability to love absolutely everyone and everything, and in turn they loved him back, and even if maybe, despite himself, he loved him back too?
No one ever listened to his truths.
He stands there, as the rain sings along to his lies, along with the golden shadow left behind that would never see.