If Dave weren't already aware of the state his middles are in, he's definitely aware once Punchy begins to do damage control as best as he can. He wants to crane his neck and look, but if he doesn't see it then he can pretend it isn't happening. Yes. Legitimately. He's just in a mind blowing amount of pain for no discernible reason.

At this point, he's still not sure whether Punchy intends to continue on as if everything is alright or if the reality is hitting him. He's quiet, it's worrying, Dave can feel anxiety pooling even though his heart rate is slowing rapidly.

"Much. Lots much." His voice is so quiet that it's probably hard to hear, but it sounds loud enough to him. "Worse than the time I thought I could grind my skateboard down the stair railings." It's almost impossible to get fainter at this rate. Drawing attention back to the pain is making his eyes fog again, but primarily it's because he can hardly focus them on anything at this point. Despite himself, his hand is squeezing onto that puppet tighter and tighter as his breathing gets more and more haggard. He decides to let his eyes fall shut, squeezing them tightly as if willing himself to get over a gaping stomach wound.