He glances back over his shoulder, looking mildly exasperated, as though wondering how the hell it can be good in spite of the reassurances. He feels like he's missing an arm, and it doesn't even matter that he's technically the person who gave permission for it to be amputated.

He shivers, swallowing the lump in his throat and tipping his head back at Tony's request. It's a side of the young man he hasn't seen yet, and if he was in a better place, mentally and emotionally and maybe wasn't the cut-up pitiful creature in the tub. Unlike the last time they had a similar health crisis... Tony actually seems calm, soothing, and competent. He's not panicking, he's just patiently helping where it's needed.

"Or we won't..." he mumbles, red-rimmed eyes staring glassily at the ceiling. "Either way, it's only two choices, and I guess that's something to take some kind of comfort in."