A/N: Wooooowwww. I got some incredible responses to the last chapter. Some of you clearly felt very strongly about it. The sick little part of me is kinda happy at causing that, to be honest. As always, you guys are brilliant and some of you will already know where this chapter is heading. Enjoy!

"You know, you really need to stop getting yourself killed. If you wanted to see me, you could just knock rather than stab yourself! And look at the mess! You're getting blood everywhere!"

Loki had not even opened his eyes yet, and already he was on the receiving end of Hela's anger. Perhaps not the best way to enter the afterlife. He blearily opened his eyes and stared at his daughter. As always, her wild, curly black hair hung loose around her pale face, and her amber eyes stared down at him in annoyance. She had her hands on her hips- one covered in a black glove and the other plain- and she shook her head in disbelief.

"Hela, my dear, help me up will you? I think I've made your floor a little slippery," Loki said, flashing her a grin. He held out a hand and his daughter took it with a huff, wrenching him upright roughly.

"Just look at yourself! You know, I may be the Goddess of Death but that doesn't mean I like seeing you like this. There were thousands of other ways you could have killed yourself- you didn't have to practically gut yourself like a fish!" She continued, and Loki did glance down at himself. He did not feel any pain, but he certainly remembered how it had felt when he had done it. There was a long, jagged cut down his chest, and blood covered every inch of his torso and arms.

He raised an eyebrow. "I had to be thorough. Odin was there."

"Yes," Hela said disapprovingly. She had never been a fan of the king, and Loki could not blame her. "I'm aware. And I'm also aware that this isn't the first time you've made the effort to visit me- although, I must say, the last two times it almost seemed as though you wanted it to be permanent."

Loki grimaced, watching with a morbid fascination as the organs, bone and skin healed. He had done quite a number on himself, it seemed. "I'm not apologising."

He saw Hela smile from the corner of his eye. "No, you wouldn't, would you? Anyway... there are people that want to see you. Both in this world and the living."

Loki stiffened, staring fixedly at a point on the floor. There were very few people who would want to see him in the Realm of the Dead, and he was well aware of who it must be. But every time he saw them it was always accompanied by an overwhelming surge of guilt.

"How are they?" He asked quietly. His chest was once more healed, and he waved a hand over himself to clean up the mess. Realising that he was still in his nightwear, with a shimmer of magic he was dressed in black riding boots, black breeches and a woolen green tunic. Nothing fancy. He had no immediate plans to leave, after all.

"They miss you. We all miss you," Hela said softly.

"I wish I could visit more often," he said.

"And kill yourself every time? You must have more scars than an warrior in Asgard by now."

Loki forced a smile. He had more scars than she knew- more than she would ever know. He thanked whatever higher power there was that his glamour was kept intact in the Realm of the Dead, though he was certain that it would have fallen away from his corpse in the Living Worlds. Hela did not know, and Loki was not about to tell her what terrible fates had befallen him. "Well? Are we going to see them or not?"

Hela led him through the dark halls to a much more comfortable section of the palace. Rather than dark stone and cold drafts, the place was made of dark, polished wood, deep red carpets and torches that cast a warm glow on the whole place. This was where Hela lived. It was also where those who were dear to her resided.

They rounded a corner and entered a warm lounge. The entire place had a homely look to it; bookcases that stretched to the ceiling, a fire that radiated heat, large cushions strewn all over the floor and comfortable armchairs and sofas. And then three people turned their heads to the pair as they entered, and Loki's face split into a grin as he was tackled to the floor by the youngest two.

"Father!"

He laughed with joy- (and guilt. They should not be here. They should be alive and well.)- and struggled to sit up. Nari and Vali, still young and managing to retain that look of innocence that Loki had long since lost, grinned up at him.

"Do you think you can let me up?" Loki huffed, still grinning.

"That depends," Vali said.

"Yes. What do we get if we let you up?" Nari added.

Loki raised his eyebrows. "You're too much like me for your own good."

His boys just continued to smile and laugh. (It is because they are like me that they were killed in the first place.)

"Come on, boys, let your father get through the door before you start with your mischief!" The third person said, and Loki smiled gratefully at him.

"Baldr, give an old man a hand, will you?" Loki said, holding a hand up.

Baldr rolled his eyes but grinned nevertheless at Loki's overly dramatic behaviour. He grasped Loki's hand and pulled him up.

"You're hardly old, Loki. Can't even be a thousand years yet!" Baldr exclaimed.

"Excuse me, but I am one thousand and forty nine this year," he protested indignantly.

"Right, because that makes you so much more mature," his brother continued, and Loki rolled his eyes.

"I've been here for all of ten minutes and already I've been shouted at, tackled and insulted!"

"There is one more person that would like to have their say, before you get settled in," Hela interjected, and Loki looked at her.

She nodded at one of the high backed chairs that was turned away from him, so he could not see who was sat there.

Then they stood.

And Loki felt as though his heart had been ripped out of his chest, stabbed a dozen times and then shoved back inside him again.

Frigga, in all her regal beauty, stood before him.

"Loki... My son," Frigga said, smiling radiantly at him.

Loki heard the others leave, but he made no comment. He only focused on the woman in front of him- the one whom he had wanted to speak to again for so long, and yet he was speechless. There were no words for how he felt.

(Mother, I'm sorry- I'm sorry- I'm sorry-)

(Don't you dare say it. No one wants the words of a liar. It is poison, nothing more. Do not taint her spirit even in death.)

(But I am not lying. I am so, so sorry.)

(Don't! Just don't. She doesn't want to hear it. She will never want to hear it.)

(She doesn't want to hear it.)

(It's all your fault-)

(All my fault. It's all my fault. Mother, I'm so-)

(All- your- fault.)

(All my fault- All my fault- All my fault-)

In his daze, Frigga had walked close to him, and only now did he flinch away. Loki did not want her to touch him. He did not want her tainted with his poison.

He somehow managed to find his voice, yet the only thing he could think to say was, "You still think me your son? Even though my last words to you were denying that?"

"That is not the worst you have ever said in your anger, and I know it in my heart not to be true. You are, and will forever be, my son," Frigga said adamantly, and Loki cursed the tears that stung his eyes.

(She's lying. She has to be. No one can love a monster. That's not how the stories end.)

(Mother, please don't let this be a lie...)

Loki shook his head, unable to form words. Frigga reached out to touch his face, but as he went to catch her wrist, his hand went straight through her. He stumbled backwards, shaking his head again, green eyes wide.

"No- you're not real- I knew you weren't real!" He said frantically, working himself into a state of panic. "Lies, lies- it's all lies! Who's idea of a joke is this? Hela? Is this my own version of Hel?"

"Loki-"

"No! You are dead and you are in Valhalla! You are not here!" He screamed, backing away. Someone came running back into the room, and he turned to find Hela staring at the scene with wide eyes. "If I am to be sent to Hel, then tell me- do not torture me with sick jests-"

"Father, this isn't a joke-"

"This isn't real!"

"Loki Odinson, you listen to me right now!" Frigga's voice cut through the red haze that had descended over his mind, causing him to spin to face her again. Even now, in the one place where he thought he could escape, he was trapped. Frigga's voice softened as she spoke. "I am only a projection. I cannot journey here from Valhalla, you know this. I wanted to see my family." Her eyes hardened slightly. "Though I was not expecting to see you here as a spirit yourself. Loki, tell me, what have you done?"

He scoffed slightly, if only so that it would hide his unease because Frigga could not be here. "I think that is fairly obvious."

"Don't you take that tone with me, Loki. Now tell me what you have done, and tell me everything."