Author's Note: This fanfic is basically inspired by my brother's urging and one viewing of the Thor movie. Wait! Don't hit the back button yet! I swear I'm working on this as seriously and thoroughly as any other fanfic. Please give it a chance. It's somewhat of a cliched premise, but it could work. Please give it a rad through before passing judgment, but by the same token please don't be afraid to be honest with your opinions. Thanks for reading.

He was curled up again.

It wasn't unusual, with this patient, but it was frustrating. Every time he thought they'd made progress, nightmares and daydreams would chase it all away. Dr. Zlotan sighed and approached gingerly. Although most of his violent tendencies had subsided in the past month, this particular patient had a dangerous cocktail of issues. It was entirely possible that he could lash out at any moment. Possible - but not likely. He didn't have a problem so long as it wasn't a blonde treating him, and he knew and recognized Zlotan even through his delusions now.

His issues with open spaces had been something his doctors had put a lot of work into. Still, whenever the medication proved not to be enough, they could always find him either in the bathroom or the closet. It was the closet, this time. The lights were off. Brightly lit, open spaces reminded him of things he couldn't work through; he was likely to have a panic attack if pushed, or worse, just completely shut down. Zlotan didn't turn on the lights, kneeling down by the closet door with an annoyed frown shot to the guards. There were some patients he was afraid of, but Loki wasn't one of them.

"We've talked about this," he began gently, in a voice that could've coaxed a rabbit out of its hole. "When you have problems, you send for me. I can't help you if you won't talk to me."

"I know." His knees were pressed to his chest, his arms locked tightly around them. "I just didn't want to disappoint you like I disappointed them. I never wanted to disappoint anyone."

He sighed, reaching out to place a hand on the other man's shoulder in an attempt to snap him back to reality. It wasn't uncommon for Loki to completely lose himself to a sea of incoherent thoughts when he was like this. Zlotan didn't know how to make this stop, but damn it if he wouldn't try his best.

"You can't disappoint me," he said earnestly, quietly. "Your progress may slow, but it's being made. It's alright, Loki."

Loki didn't seem to hear him. "I just wanted to make everyone proud. Help people. I thought I was so smart. I thought it would work."

"Loki, you're babbling again. Slow it down for me." He watched his patient's eyes flicker in and out of focus. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"I made so many mistakes. So many. I shouldn't have tried. Shouldn't have even been born. Shouldn't have ruined everything." He was beginning to rock in place, a little. "You know this. I've told you this so many times, I don't know why we're going over it again-"

"So that you might remember something new, something that might help me help you," his doctor answered instantly, voice calm and gentle. "It's like putting a puzzle together. I need more of the pieces. Let me help you."

"I... I can't see any of it. I just remember... I think I heard a voice, someone telling me no. And then I fell. Jumped, maybe. Is that new?"

"Yes. You've never told me that before." The redhead smiled warmly at him, though he was unsure Loki even saw it in this state of mind. "This is good. Keep going."

"I was trying to explain to him and he didn't understand. No one's ever understood. My mind goes so fast - you call them racing thoughts but I never knew there was a name for it, no one did. He didn't understand. I knew then he never would. No one ever would. I made so many mistakes. So many. It was never going to be okay again. Never. So I fell." Loki wasn't looking at the room around him as he said it. His voice grew quieter, and wavered. "I don't want to remember this. I want it to all go away."

Was that yet another indicator of suicidal thoughts? It wouldn't be the first time in these past four months that the self-named patient had tried to end it all. The first two weeks had been nothing but stony silence and crushing depression. He'd snapped at the first blonde doctor to come near him, nearly jumped out a window in an attempt to escape another, refused to eat and expressed no interest in talking to anyone. Zlotan had spent countless hours easing him into the art of conversation. He didn't even try to pretend that meant he'd fixed this poor man's life.

"What are you feeling right now? Talk to me."

Loki blinked, looking him over as if seeing him for the first time. "I'm just tired. I'm tired, and I'm tired of being tired. I don't want to do this anymore. Can't you give me something to help me sleep?" His tone was pleading.

"It would help your body more if you did that naturally. I can't hand you a drug for your every problem, you know that." He held out his hand. "Come on, get out of here and I'll order you some dinner, and things will look better in the morning."

Loki accepted his hand, his face blank. His life was in enough ruins that crying or fighting didn't help anymore. Zlotan had hoped that meant he was accepting that he needed help and beginning to move forward, but clearly they hadn't been making as much progress as he'd thought. It had at first been unclear how much of his life this particular patient remembered. Moments like this made two things clear: he neither knew anything nor wanted to. He hated his memories, those vague whispers and voices he couldn't shake. He wanted it to all go away. Zlotan's one job in life was to make it all come back. That should've prevented them from being anything but enemies, but Zlotan also knew how to bring him back to reality and keep his depression from swallowing him up.

Some people dealt with trauma by crying, or screaming, or anger. A lesser used option was to completely shut down and not focus on anything. To keep him from having another panic attack, his psychiatrist had told him to focus on his breathing. It was also handy to help slow his thoughts. His pulse, the hum of the lights, the faint sounds of Zlotan's footsteps and the ambient noise around him - it was all a way to slowly block out his own thoughts. That wasn't the way he was supposed to use it. He knew that, but it didn't stop him from doing it. Zlotan's frown said he clearly knew what his patient was pulling, and disapproved thoroughly.

Still, this was relatively painless as far as patients went. He counted the day as a success as he told one of the guards to run down to the cafeteria and get dinner. He could've asked a nurse, except that Loki always found it amusing when the guards were forced to do menial tasks. Zlotan was not above manipulating people to keep his patients spirits up. Actually, there had been a lot of manipulation involved in his career. He liked to think of it as creative disinformation for the greater good.

In the end all he really managed to do was get the man to curl up at a slightly different location. A more realistic person might've despaired at the lack of progress. Then again, no one would ever accuse Gaberiel Zlotan of realism. He informed the nurse station that Loki was allowed one dosage of Xanax should he request it, and went home late, determined to figure out how this nugget of information fit into the bigger picture of the puzzle he'd been handed. He was going to figure this out, no matter what it took.

Loki, for his part, prayed he wouldn't dream and was rewarded with one he didn't remember. But no matter what his psychiatrist said, things didn't look any better in the morning.

They never did.