There is a short bark of sound that probably is meant to be a laugh at being called a strong person. Jokes in this kind of situation was hideously macabre but he could after a fashion appreciate the effort for what it was, a small bit of distraction.

At least there wasn't any fighting. They weren't setting out to erase witnesses or anything, or finish what Knives had started in the name of protecting him. He starts briefly at being touched, such things as a comforting hand long in the past for the most part and made strange by time, but he either lacks the energy or the desire to pull away. Somehow it made it harder to keep from giving into the nearly strangling desire to just sob like a baby, but he is not a baby and he is not going to give in.

Yet.

The blond man and the woman are much too far away for him to even reliably lip read, so he doesn't bother to try after a moment of squint, instead leaning marginally into the warm circles against his back and closing his eyes. Not the best of ideas by the sway that follows, but he's still upright, though clearly quickly not paying as much attention as he should be. This was still a potentially dangerous situation! And he is slowly losing the ability to really focus on it; he knows, he knows it's not safe to relax or give into shellshock, not around strangers, even if they're Knives' friends. But something about these two specific strangers made him wish he could go home, some echo of the last place he had a friendly voice and a warm touch and felt safe.

Don't think about that either. "Where are we going?" Wherever Knives is, presumably. "Is he okay?"

There is a disconnect here, between his expectations and quiet question, and the reality of what's going on, without any explanation in between them.