Author's note: I forgot to add the disclaimer. Of course, all rights reserved to Marvel here.

He had no plan at all. He really thought that this should have been the end.

He clearly remembered a hand crushing his throat, then the suffocation, the pain, some distant noises, flashes of colour, the cold and fading away. Next, he was here. Because this needed to be somewhere, right?

Better not be Valhalla, though. It was quite empty, for a heaven. He felt pretty much not dead, that is to say alive, but obviously he could not be sure.

He had given up any hope of victory when he had decided to face Thanos. He had just foolishly hoped that, at least, his desperate attempt would give his brother a chance to get out alive. But all he had seen was Thor's powerless look, all he had done was strengthening the Mad Titan by giving him the Tesseract, and all he had left was a sentence repeating over and over in his head.

You really are the worst, brother.

He was. He even was the worst at finding his way after death. Seriously.

Maybe this was Hell. That made much more sense. After everything he had done, how could he hope to enter Valhalla? This was a place for heroes, not for tricksters. Or perhaps Valhalla was only destined to Asgardians. And he was not Asgardian.

It was hard to focus on his last memories. First, he was strangled. Second, he saw some blue and purple explosions all around him. Third, he passed out. Oh, and there was the cold too.

A real, deep cold. Yes, cold was the last thing he felt before he opened his eyes. He was becoming more and more certain not to be dead. What had happened to him? Maybe this was the Tesseract? Was it Thanos who had intentionally sent him here? Or was it Heimdall, not dead either, who had used the Bifrost?

The fact was, he had no idea about where he was, how he got there, or what he could do. Loki of Asgard had no plan at all.