Full Summary: [Time Travel AU] Thor's dead; it's as simple as that. Loki tells himself he shouldn't care because he'd never cared. Yet, as he finds himself entering the Forbidden Place, the mantra, the lie, the denial is washed away. It's convenient that Thor has died; yet another reason to start over. But can someone miss another enough to do anything? Probably, Loki thinks.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or Thor.

A/N: Edited 12/2/19. It has been brought to my attention that yes, this story does seem nearly if not exactly, to resemble Bargaining. I was heavily inspired by the former, I admit maybe too much. Apologies to anyone who took offense, as I have developed more as a writer, and this story was one of juvenile ramblings. To the readers who wonder where the other chapters have gone, well, I deleted them. (I have them saved elsewhere, do not despair. If you wish to have them, PM me.) I will leave this chapter up until I am fully capable of rewriting the whole thing. Until then.

o-o-o

"What is your name?" Loki asks. He gets comfortable in his seat once again, his face shrouded in shadows. The darkness that reeks from all corners of the room adds to the already tense atmosphere. "What should I call you?"

"Nothing, child," a curt and emotionless voice purrs from across him, "because then when you try to blame someone, it shall not be me. For the fault is on you. It always has been."

Loki smiles tightly. And it's not only because his lips are chapped. "Alright," he says.

He leans back in his chair, trying to steal a glance underneath the hood.

The mass in front of him shifts back, hands raising in the air. "Let us begin," the voice says, as they recite some words under their breath.

"Alright," Loki murmurs, his hands clamped together. "Alright . . . "

Suddenly, the scenery in front of the changes, breaks and forms, and twists and bends. Loki closes his eyes as he braces for the impact of anything.

And then time stops and restarts.

o-o-o

In the beginning, it's a whirling sensation followed by a burst of colors. It happens so quickly, there is no time to piece things together. No time to think.

The first thing Loki's mind registers, now fully conscious, is that he's falling. His hair brushes against his skin gently, and his clothing tatters against his thin frame. But as he strains his ears, he comes to realize that there is no wind. There is no sound, there is nothing.

And he is falling.

It's fuel to his panic. Like a match falling onto oil, the panic seeps and spreads everywhere until all Loki can feel is a pressure in his midsection that makes it hard to breathe. The familiar feeling is horribly sickening.

Despair begins to crawl up his neck. It slowly wraps itself around his throat and pulls.

Loki blinks furiously, swallowing and clawing at his neck as he tries to grasp the loose ends. He catapults downwards, falling and falling and falling, and he forces his body to twist.

He's expecting something—anything really. But as he forces his head to look downwards, the only thing he can see is darkness. It pales in comparison with the Void, but it is still dark.

In the middle of a supposedly glorious triumph, strain and fear hatches in his heart. There is relief the deal seems to have worked, but there is also dread. Too much dread. The latter is consuming his thoughts, and Loki feels his heart hammering against his ribcage.

After a few minutes—or what seems like minutes—it occurs to Loki, that maybe the wicked Sorceress has tricked him. It dawns on his thoughts like the rising sun. Slow and progressive at first, until it is suddenly there.

In a suddenly blind panic that engulfs his being, Loki twists and turns violently. His heart flutters and pounds at a million miles when the realization takes hold.

Endless falling. A bottomless pit. Nothing but wretched thoughts that twist and rewrite themselves as the minutes turn into hours, until he is so sure no time has passed at all.

Voices start hiss in his head. They laugh and chatter in excitement.

[This is just like the Void.]

It is almost as if the oxygen that is present is sucked out. A buzz rings through his head and the only thing Loki does is exist.

His mind reels back to his encounter. He dissects her movements, much like his own, to see a mistake. And as his brain unscrambles the events of before, he catches too many mistakes.

He's told her too much, he hisses with a jolt of humiliation. Foolishly relapsing back to his ever present emotions, he'd let himself become vulnerable.

His mind clouds with horrible thoughts, until a spurt of relief, shakes his core.

The Sorceress would not be foolish enough to trick him, having as much part of the pact as he did. But despite the hope that stretches along his body and calms him some, he is not able to shake off another feeling.

He comes to realize that with pacts, trust was needed. Neither of both parties had been good at telling the truth or trustful. Yet, Loki had allowed her to have a peek at his thoughts. Surely, just merely skimming the surface was not enough to find much.

But Loki's memory comes back to him in quick succession. ('Specific requests? Any more questions?' The sorceress had asked him. 'No,' he had answered.)

Loki closes his eyes and breathes. He puts his hand over his ears and squeezes hard.

The dry, small laughter of the Sorceress rings in his ears. She had known—of course she had.

As the nausea rolls in, Loki vows to make her pay. But he lets the loose threat fall away as he does, knowing that it was his own doings as well.

But she had known. Daring, hinting, knowing what Loki still fears, when he himself had purposely and subsequently shoved the memories into the darkest depths of his mind.

So, Loki plummets downwards, he eventually gets used to he pit in his stomach that churns and twists. He wonders if there is even an end.

The thought that there isn't, makes him dizzy.

[Playing with you and your emotions is what she does best.]

[It would make sense. She knows what happened.]

He nods to himself desperately, repeating the mantra in his head. His shoulders are still tense and his fists are coiled so tightly, he draws blood from his palms.

Loki tries closing his eyes, as if to drown the silence that is everlasting and present. He even prays to the Norns, who had failed him in another life, to stop falling soon.

And this time, it appears they listen.

o-o-o

The impact is more painful that he anticipates it to be, but nonetheless he is grateful.

Loki lands on his left side—his weaker side. Pain blossoms like a rose, and sends sharp pulses all the way down to his feet before repeating the gruesome cycle. It is so horrible he is sure he will die. He feels himself start to fade, start to lose consciousness-

but mercy is something that is always denied from him. That and so many things.

The air in his already strained lungs immediately leaves him when his mouth opens in a breathless sob. Jolts of electricity singe his body. But he makes no noise as he is left gasping like a fish, clawing uselessly at his chest.

The heavy pressure around his ribs is agonizingly painful that it hurts to think. Black spots start to cloud his vision. Purples and blues mix, they dance in front of his eyes until Loki isn't able to make out his stuttering chest in front of him that yearns for air.

Then, he starts makes choking sounds. They are involuntary humiliating whimpers and unintended groans. They make his cheeks burn with red up despite having all reasons to.

And he lays there, mouth agape, fingers digging into the ground. His face strains as he draws wheezing gasps of air, and beads of sweat run down his sullen face.

Darkness eventually claims him into her greedy grip. And again, he is grateful.

o-o-o

When Loki wakes, he finds that can breathe more easily. Knives and javelins to his side still render him paralyzed if he moves too quickly, but at least he can breathe with more ease.

Yet, finding that he can breath, he also finds that he cannot fully relax, for in doing so his body shifts. It sends flares that make him see white. So he decides to wait. He counts the seconds in his head as the jagged edges of a blade dull down to simple throbs.

Keeping his eyes shut, he slowly uncurls himself from his stiff position. It takes hours, days, even years, maybe. Centimeter by centimeter, inch by inch, sweat pouring down from all directions, and finally he is sitting.

Everything hurts, but he is alive. The pain is a constant reminder that he is still alive.

Despite with the spots now gone from his vision, he does not open his eyes. Listening to his breathing, even with the ragged huffs he takes, manages to calm him down. And ever so slowly, he untucks his hand and lets it settle onto the ground.

He is somewhat shocked his hand touches on a cool temperate surface. He lets his fingertips run over the gravel-like ground, and traces patterns onto it—symbols and runes.

The steady silence around him now is somewhat calming. It is not like the silence in the Void, which drives one nearly to madness. For once, Loki's glad he can hear himself take in weak quivering breathes.

And then, a thought strikes him so suddenly it takes all his willpower not to laugh. But he does anyways from relief. He quickly regrets the idea when his laugh turns into a coughing fit.

It takes time, too much of it, or none at all when Loki is finally able to stand. His body trembles and sways, stomach lurches and churns. His legs feel as if someone has tied an anchor to it, for they feel like lead. Dark and deadly.

His surroundings consist of an endless gray that extends for miles and miles and miles until it blends with the sky. Loki gingerly takes a step forward, and stumbles horribly. He pauses to gather his bearings. Rage now fueling his emotions, he takes another forceful step. And another, and-

all at once, there is a white blinding light that seems to penetrate all the way down his skull. He cradles his head, his eyes feeling bloodshot and-

a muffled voice enters through his ears.

The voice itself is strong enough that it sends vibrations through the floor. This is not as comforting as Loki hopes.

He does not turn, his eyes do not open, and he does not make a sound.

The voice seems to notice Loki's silence, for they pause for a moment. Then, starting again, this time more urgent. Loki realizes that they must be talking to him, but he can't seem to move his tongue to form a response. It feels like lead in his mouth.

The voice stops again, pausing for a mere second before resuming.

That's when the shaking starts. It's rough, and Loki supposes it's because he doesn't —can't—answer. Whoever is talking to him is getting angry, that much is clear.

Tying to free himself of the iron grip they have on his shoulder that sends jolts of pain all the way down to his feet, suddenly, as if someone has unplugged Loki's ears, sound comes rushing back to him all at once.

"Loki," a voice says from somewhere near him. "Loki!"

Loki opens his eyes and is met with a spectacular sight. Everything is golden, polished and delicately designed. Patterns and circles are embedded into such structures. Although the room is gold, and perceives of greatness, it still holds a chilling darkness.

He comes to realize, that he is somewhere completely different from where he landed.

"Loki," a tired voice snaps.

Loki turns, keeping his eyes at floor level, which also bear similar markings.

And as his eyes slowly lift from the glittering reflected surface to the person standing in front of him, unease settles at the base of his heart. The body language is so familiar. The voice is familiar. The soft fabrics woven intrinsically by hand that represent the highest of royalty are familiar.

He looks up ever so slowly and is met by a bold, icy eye. A small breeze seems to whip by, and the combination of the glare allows for chills to run down his spine. But he does not move.

"All-Father," Loki whispers, testing out his now clear voice. "All-Father."

There, standing tall, firm and noticeably younger-looking in front of him, is Odin himself. His features are softer, less harsh and crooked. Wrinkles of old age still litter his skin, but his eyes less serious, yet still hardened by the troubles of this time.

Although the voice contradicts his looks, the mere sight of Odin makes Loki truly realize how back he has gone.

[How intriguing, isn't it?]

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Loki waits for a reaction, but Odin simply raises an eyebrow and stares at him. For a split second Loki's heart twist, fearing that Odin sees right through him. Fears that Odin can see that he does not belong here. His heart pounds as the All-Father's eye bears into his own pair.

[The fake of a fake. Deceiver, a liar. Traitor. A monster.]

"Loki," Odin says, his voice now resigned, tired. Gungnir is still grasped tightly around his palm. "Let this be a lesson to you for future events and to anyone who commits treason."

[Treason? Is Thor's accidental death treason?]

Loki shifts slightly, mouth turning upwards in confusion. "I don't understand," he allows in the most innocent voice he can conjure. But it's true, he does not understand.

[How far back have you traveled, boy? Do you not know?]

Odin's demeanor changes in a flash. His diminished anger is replaced by an authoritative voice. "You know for what, boy," he says, voice tight. "I am not as foolish and ignorant as Thor, for I know you may have influenced his deep rooted thoughts. Let this be an example for you too."

Loki raises an eyebrow. "Oh . . . ?"

"Do not cause more trouble. Thor got what he deserved," Odin reassures before turning.

Loki narrows his eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips when he tries to remember what Thor had done to deserve death.

He does not yet now where he is, or what has taken place. Yet, seeing and understanding that Odin still grasps at his reigns, Loki can guess that he has traveled back quite a bit.

All thoughts are dispersed when Odin begins in a loud booming voice. "Heimdall," Odin says, voice soft. "Keep an eye on Thor, make sure he does not do anything stupidly foolish. And make sure that the Bifrost stays guarded." Odin turns to look at Loki. "Let us be on our way."

It is now that Loki realizes he and Odin are not the only ones in the Observatory. He turns his head ever so slowing, catching dark skin and golden armour from his peripheral. And he cannot stop the small smile that forms on his lips.

A twisted hatred blossoms in his heart, but Loki shoves it down, knowing that Heimdall had his reasons for betraying the throne so long ago. "Heimdall," he says, jaw tightening as he bobs his head in greeting. "Hello,"

"Prince Loki, hello," Heimdall acknowledges, before impassively pulling his sword from its place. He turns to face Odin. Golden, seeing eyes locking into his. "I shall see that the Bifrost remains free of enemies, my King." He bows in an apologetic way.

He still doesn't know what has occured. Choosing his words carefully, Loki turns to the All-Father. He uses words that cannot possibly be dissected for hidden messages or taken wrongly. "Can I take a moment to recollect myself?"

Odin turns to face Loki again, his lips pressed into a thin line and his voice tense. "Make haste, boy. Let us make way back to the palace. We must discuss Thor's banishment to the others."
Loki follow mutley, and robotically as he furrowed his eyebrows. He walks slowly. Gingerly. Placing and taking steps to not flame his wound. Thor has been banished, that is what has occured.

He can feel a flush of frustration creep up to his cheeks, not fully remembering what has transpired for such events to take place. He feels like rubbish, cursing at his mind and starts to dig. He rakes at his brain and bites his tongue as he drags his feet. And when Loki he looks up to the sight on front of him, bile rises to his throat so quickly he freezed midstep.

As Odin walks ahead, his words falling away from his lips, the only thing Loki can do is breathe. His eyes roam and stare at all the darkness that flows endlessly beside the Bifrost. He gapes at the unbroken city with warm lights that sees devoid of any destruction.

"Loki," Odin calls, looking tiredley behind him. "We shall discuss this in depth with Frigga, too, for it is needed. Make haste, for I shall not hesitate to leave to meet you at the palace." His tone is a warning. Walking towards the exit, he sends a farewell wave to Heimdall.

[The Queen of Asgard, Frigga. She lives.]

Loki feels the blood from his face drain away. His hands tremble by his side with the realization. The Queen, Frigga, his mother still lives. Any disdain he's had with Heimdall, any apprehensive thoughts he's had towards the All-Father are suddenly gone. Hope flowers in his chest and spreads like a eagle spreading its wings. It soothes his tense shoulders and diminishes the pain from his surely-broken ribs.

[Does it make sense now, princeling? Odin and Heimdall don't yet act as if you're a monster.]

"The All-Mother," Loki says, his voice calm and collected despite he's sure it will shatter any minute. He pauses, breathes quickly but silent. "She will be most displeased."

"Aye, of course" Odin nods sullenly, climbing up onto his horse. "She will be most displeased with Thor's sudden banishment."

[Banishment . . . Thor's been banished and Frigga lives. The city flourishes, no destructing has become of it.]

It all makes sense now. He feels absurd, utterly foolish and stupid that it he did not fully connected the pieces. But voices start to hiss in his mind. They hold panic, and Loki's stomach twists from nerves and the feeling of helplessness. The dull pulses and throbs are starting to return.

[This is a mistake. We've gone too far back, too far!]

[We were only here to save Thor! We can't prevent everything!]

But he can try.

[This is before anything! This is before everything!]

Loki averts his eyes, and trains them on Odin, who runs his fingers over Sleipnir's mane.

[You fool, have you come to realize it only now? Of course we've gone too far.]

Again, the speed and succession of which everything comes back hits Loki like the green beast had. He almost collapses with relief and despair as the piece are now woven together.

Odin gallops away, not once turning to look back if his pawn is behind him. Loki does not let it bother him. He raises a shaky hand and touches his hair, before rearing his fingers back when they come in contact with dampness. The cool breeze and chills were remnants of his time in Jotunheim.

This is the day Thor was to be coronated.

[Frigga lives and you haven't yet fallen.]

Loki has so much time, he does not know where to begin. There are so many opportunities, deals, chances that are available. Things he can stop and possibly avoid, things he can stop from happening because he knows.

He tries piecing things together as such thoughts fly in his mind, sometimes away from his grasp. But when Loki snaps back to reality, Odin is just but a speck traveling down the Bifrost, and Heimdall is facing the vast darkness or the cosmos.

As Loki limps aimlessly to his steed that is inconveniently too far and too close to the edge, the only thing he can do is shake with rage and bold triumph. Once he is sure that no one can hear him, Loki tilts his head up to the stars above him. He lets out an agonizing laugh as as his lungs beg for air and the walls of darkness seem to close around him.

The Norns have heard his prayers.

A/N: Loki gets very confused in this chapter because as he unconsciously pushes the memories deeper into his mind, he cannot seem to recall the events of before. This thus, further jumbles up his the thoughts, which can't seem to process and connect the events of before in his head.