Thor pays little attention to the arrival of the healer, other than to note that he's there, puttering around with whatever tools or medicines he carries in the toolkit, and though there's something vaguely familiar about the voice, it's not until he raises his head to actually look at the man that a jolt of surprise cuts through the haze like the blade of a knife, his eye widening.

He knows that face.

Thor's hand lashes out and snares the healer's wrist, holding it immobile, and he's real and solid and... what... the hell is this? The clothes, the hair, the accent, it's all wrong. Where is his armor? The tattoos on his head? There's recognition in the healer's eyes, but not the grudging respect for royal blood, nor the shame he'd sported after serving as Hela's executioner.

But in this moment, Thor looks at him and sees another of Asgard's fallen, and his heart races at breakneck pace as if there is an enemy to fight, but there's nothing he can do but gasp for breath as he struggles to make sense of it all, rational thought momentarily swept aside by the start of what he does not recognize as a panic attack, too destroyed to shore himself up against its ambush and master himself before they can see.