[ He appreciates it, even if he had made no indication about it being needed. But his anxious body language probably gave it away -- he's holding his own hand, something of an old childhood habit whenever he was lonely or scared, practically cradling it to his chest; it just happens to be the injured one. ]

If it's like they said... if I actually get my fingers back and it's not some weird cursed bullshit that tries to strangle me in my sleep. [ He tries to return it more to the familiar plane of conversation, where he cusses and distrusts everything and makes questionable jokes. It falls a little flat so he gives up. ]

Think it'd work on your eye?