[He shakes his head, despite every muscle in his back clenching at screaming at him with a prod or touch. Maybe getting your flesh punctured with gardening equipment hurts more than his marijuana-hazed brain is willing to process right now. So much for medicinal pain killers, haha (he coulda' swore he said that out loud, but maybe he's too achy to crack that joke).]

No, nono, I can handle it. I--went long enough without it, right? I can handle it.

[Because some part of him thinks he has to suffer it through to the end, if the others had to. It's weird logic, he knows. This is the last sort of pain he'll ever have from home... physically at least. Might as well cling to it a little.]

--stitches, and I'll be a hundred bucks.

Yeah, no sweat.

[maybe that last part was aimed more at him but still]