That level of consideration floors him more than the sudden, debilitating onset of mortality. The huff of laughter is choked, and it stains his lips red.

"I barely noticed the lance going in." That was the deepest hit, he's pretty sure, just beneath his ribs. "Pain isn't a problem."

It's not that he doesn't feel it; it's just one of those constant companions, like grief and self-loathing. Usually it isn't part of someone trying to help him, and the first pierce of the needle doesn't shift the shell-shocked wonder in those burning red eyes.