Loki's still snarling back at him, but it's something Thor has grown used to and even learned the different flavors of - this feels like an injured horse nipping at him, a wounded dog biting an attendent's hand as they go to bandage its paw. If Loki meant to hurt him in return, he would have been more specific-- and then his brother is leaning forward in obvious pain.

It's difficult to harm an Aesir, and knowing that Loki is truly a Frost Giant should mean he's nearly as impervious as Thor himself. It's that knowledge and concern, affection left over from before that has Thor nodding dutifully before reaching out to grasp Loki - but gently, around his waist. It's easy to rise with both of them, because even if his injured kin is nearly his height and not exactly lacking in heavy muscle himself, Thor could rend most substances in half with his bare hands.

With an efficient but slow flex of his thick legs, he's standing with Loki tugged flush against his side, the scent of blood rusting the air around them. There's no sharing of body heat with all their layers of clothing, but somehow Thor feels a warmth in his chest just the same. "I will be happy to help you, Loki, but I fear my useless commentary may not cease as much as you would like."