A slow, thin smile eased its way across Loki's lips as Thor spoke. "Long ago, I hope," he countered. "I could wish for no better model." He watched carefully as his brother went through his stages -- his eyes seeming to circle the pills like a dog deciding where to sit down. He was honestly a little surprised when Thor took them and swallowed them down.
Loki didn't like how Thor's fingers shook. Loki didn't like a lot of this. But he knew, now, that there wasn't much he could do to help it, much less stop it. He'd learned long ago (even if he hadn't always learned the lesson well) that trying to push Thor too hard only resulted in bitterness for the both of them, so he tried, as much as possible, to handle his brother with a light touch. This approach was very much like trying to mine coal with the point of a sewing needle, but it was all Loki could manage now, and so he tried.
"I believe you," he said evenly, although he was, admittedly, more satisfied when he eye at least caught the flask, so he knew where it was. It was impossible to tell from this angle if it was empty or not, but at the very least it was halfway across the room, and in Thor's present state, it was unlikely that he'd get up to get it. Not impossible, but at least unlikely.
"You should try to sleep," he soothed, reaching across to turn the sheets and comforter down invitingly. In moments like this, he really did sound a little like Frigga. But Loki had been honest before -- he liked that. Their mother -- Thor's mother -- was, to Loki, the standard against which all good was measured. If he could be even a little like her, he must be doing something right, even despite the uncharacteristic gauntness in his face tonight, the haunted aspect of his eyes.