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The first thing Loki noticed after waking up was the leather cuffs around his arms and legs, restricting any movement. The second thing was that this was most definitely Midgard. And they had apparently given him something to calm him down, because he was more calm than he should’ve been after waking up in a strange white room, tied down and plugged into machines of all kinds.
And the third and final thing he noticed, after his brother entered the room (holding some flowers and a teddy bear, so cheesy), his face brightening immediately with relief and joy, was that he couldn’t speak. He opened his mouth, wanting to call his brother a sentimental oaf, and only a strangled, garbled gasp came out. His throat burned, and he whimpered from the strain. He drew in deeper, quicker breaths, only straining his throat more, and Thor put his hand on his chest.
“Calm down, Loki. It will be okay. Just breathe. Slowly, please.” Thor begged, rubbing up and down his chest and pressing his forehead to Loki’s shoulder.
Loki remembered now what landed him here. He was fighting Thanos, or, rather, he tried to sneak-attack him with a dagger in an attempt to sacrifice himself and subsequently got his neck snapped like a twig. He let out a whimper, and stared at Thor.
“I’m so sorry, Brother…” He cried pitifully. “I’m so sorry.”
Thor untied Loki’s arms and handed him the bear, then set up the flowers on the nightstand, throwing away the old, rotten ones. “I’m sorry. I should have—” and Thor paused. “I don’t know. I should have done something. Should have gotten you help faster. Should have done something. But I didn’t. And now—” He stopped speaking for a while, and wiped his tears.
He smiled tearily at Loki. “I’m glad you’re awake. I’m so relieved. They said you could be in the coma for years. But you woke up.” Thor leaned over and kissed him, and Loki wanted to push him away, but found he was too weak. “I got you a few books while you were asleep. I’ve been told they’re classics on Midgard.” Thor pulls out a couple books: Pride and Prejudice, 1984, and The Hobbit.
Loki played with the fur on the teddy bear, staring at its black, beady little eyes. He stared back at Thor and tried to say something again, but it came out the same way, a burning hot pain and a garbled noise.
Thor moved closer and rubbed his back. “Don’t speak, don’t speak, my love. It will only hurt you.” He opened the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out a notepad and a pen. “You can write.”
Loki picked up the pen and scribbled in his quick, sharp handwriting, “When can I speak again?”
Thor went silent after reading it and put his head in his hands, and Loki’s blood ran cold. He angrily threw the notepad at Thor, and huffed angrily, though that hurt his throat like hell.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Loki. I’m so fucking sorry.” He cried, over and over again. It was pathetic, Loki thought. “They said it’d take a miracle to ever get your voice back. Your vocal cords were crushed. I spoke to every doctor, every surgeon, and they all said it was impossible. I’m sorry.” Thor wiped his tears, and looked back up to Loki.
Loki just stared at Thor, tears rolling down his cheeks.
Thor didn’t need to hear Loki’s voice to understand. This was what finally broke him. He wouldn’t be able to recover from this. Thor crawled onto the bed with him and held him as he cried, little whimpers and distorted noises coming from his throat. “I’m so sorry.”