[He manages to catch the wipes with his left hand, grateful that even made human, he seems to have retained his ambidexterity. Mostly because he would've been embarrassed to drop something in front of Archer.]

The ones of us that went missing, from the looks of things.

[That's what the knives are being used on, he means.

Pushing his sleeve up, he makes an attempt to wipe as much of the blood off as possible, only pausing to grimace at Archer drinking rubbing alcohol. He's had his fair share of strong booze, but — that seems unnecessary.

Still, he holds his arm out.]

You watched me get my bloody fingers cut off without screaming. I'll be fine.

[He's not going scream about a bit of rubbing alcohol in a wound.]