It does raise his eyebrows when she is washing her hands first, Sarge wouldn’t have cared if Addie had whipped out some duct tape and an old sock - a tried and true method he has used many times to treat deeper cuts and the occasional wound from a bullet grazing him. Lucky enough more than half of the idiots that shot at him in his life were miserable shooters so he never had to worry about that, only knives, and he is beginning to really hate those damn things.
It is uncomfortable there on her bed. Not in that kind of way, it beats the bunks at La Quinta and he has been sleeping on floors lately, but it's her bed and he's half undressed. Sarge is staring at the ceiling, noticing how he has to patch up a few spots, and his arms resting at his sides feel heavy. Normally he would cross them under his head somewhere, but he has a hunch that that might not be a good thing to do with someone stitching him up.
Pain is definitely something he can deal with, and he grunts at Addie, because it occurs to him that he actually has no idea if he is ticklish. His childhood wasn't exactly filled with parental tickle fights and as an adult... Well. Nobody looks at Sarge and gets the urge to tickle him. Which is good, all things considered. He hasn't lost his touch yet. "Don't know 'bout thar, but I get poked with needles pretty often." His eyes drift to his arm with his newest tattoo, a snarling wolf, although he gets stitched up almost as much as he gets tattoos. Definitely not looking at the almost faded bruise where an entirely different needle was inserted not too long ago.