This is just something I typed out after seeing Thor: The Dark World. Spoilers.
"I didn't do it for him."
Darkness encases mischeif and a warrior cries out with wounds of greif ripped open twice over. On the black sands of the Dark World the brothers who share no blood are upon the ground, one growing cold in the warm arms of the other. The might of Thor is cracking as the mask of Loki slips away from him – rage builds up in one and for the first time, calm and peace overtake the chaos of rage and pain that had made Loki who he was.
His ivory skin is covered with cobwebs of darkness until his skin is as grey as the sands that surround him. Warm tears fall upon his cheeks as Thunder's rain escapes his eyes, but Loki cannot feel them. Not now. Not again.
Is this what he has become, he wonders. An apologetic fool, grasping at the last threads of what had been his family? Greif and desperation had won over in those final moments. Loki had been vas ulnerable as he had been in his cell when they had embarked upon this foolish plan. For those few fleeting seconds, Loki had been the brother that Thor had been searching all the Nine realms for, the very man that Thanos had crushed under his thumb when Odin's words had still been knives in his adoptive son's heart.
I didn't do it for him.
For some ridiculous reason, he had done all this for Thor. He had died for Thor in the name of Frigga, the only woman who could ever truly be Loki's Mother. Those two people had driven him to madness and back, but yet they were amoung the few Loki cared for. None other than the children of this fading God could ever claim that he had cared for them. No, Loki's heart was far too protected to allow many safe housing there.
There is a darkness gripping him, paralyzing him. The God of Thunder lays him down upon the cold sand as he turns to his precious mortal for support; Loki does not notice. Loki is dead.
"Father."
His eyes snap open and he is still there on the Dark World. He is still dead. He knows this because he sees his body beneath him, lifeless and cold upon the ground. But yet he is standing.
"Father."
Loki knows this voice. He knows the small hand touching his own. As his emerald eyes continue to observe the motionless body that rests at his feet, his long fingers wrap about that small hand.
"Hela."
A weight rests against the side of his body. In the distance, Loki can see the billowing red of Thor's cape as it is thrashed about by the relentless winds of this empty world. Thor walking away, leaving him for dead once more. But that should not be his focus now, he knows that. Instead he turns his eyes away from the man who thought him a brother so that he might look upon a sight that was more sorely missed.
"Hela, how you've grown."
Green eyes were filled with rare fondness as he looked upon the child-Goddess of the dead, his slender fingers touching the soft skin of her face. She had not yet been halfway to her womanhood when Odin had cast her down and exiled her from eight of the worlds. Loki had been forbidden to see her when he had lived. But now he was no longer bound by that burden.
"I've grown far more than you can imagine, Father."
Hela's green eyes stared back at him, revealing an old soul that lived within the body of a child that was fast approaching her womanhood. She wore a dark hood that shadowed her features, one that Loki moved to push away. When it fell, his eyes widened. A fury built up inside of him, a sudden surge of anger and rage towards Odin being reborn within him.
"The fall into my Pit was far, Father."
When he had last seen his daughter, she had been fair and kind. Her dark hair had touched her shoulders and her smile and brightened the cold days of Joutenheim, where she had been raised with her Mother. But now half of that face that Loki had been so fond of was black as Malekith's, the skin hard as rock and one eye sealed shut forever.
"He did this to you."
Loki turned with fury, a pulse of magic escaping him in a moment where his control slipped. Hela's cape billowed with the force; his corpse, cold on the ground, rolled over to bury his face in the sand. But his control soon returned. He turned back to his child. His mask was fitted well.
"You knew I would be here, Father."
Loki nodded. His fingers brushed through her dark hair, which fell only on one side of her head. The other half was only home to wisps of silver threads.
"Yes, Hela."
"I know what you want me to do."
He was silent, only continuing to look upon her. A part of him was solidifying the image of her into his memory, both for the sake of sentimentality and so he could never forget what other crimes Odin had commited against him. This would continue to fuel his rage. This would make him stronger.
"Will I see you again, Father?"
He nodded.
"When Odin is dead, nothing can stand between you and I, daughter."
She nodded, squeezing his hand once more. It had felt like centuries since she had last felt a caring touch. The dead could care little about their ruler.
"Swear it." she whispered, the winds of this cold world whipping her robes and hair, "Swear it, for I shan't let you leave my grasp if you are never to return."
"I swear it, Hela."
And for once, Loki could be trusted.