Don's preoccupied with wiping the blood of his fingers and tossing a rag Mikey's way for the same purpose that he only hums in reply to the assurance of Mikey's continued well-being. His Mikey might have complained, but he's used to to tough-talkers enough to know that letting them suffer sometimes worked just as well. It isn't as though he really has any painkillers to offer, anyway.

But then Mikey says something almost poetic - using the word thrice of all things - and he looks up, fingers stilling. "What?"