"Give me something," he pleaded immediately in response to Hudson's comment about sleep. He had despaired at Dean moving away, putting him back to bed, but hadn't had the energy to fight against it and did have the mental fortitude to protest. He'd conceded that he would lose the battle here and surrender Dean back to the armchair, which already felt like a world away. The implication that he was leaving was too much. Don Juan might not have wanted him here to see any of this, but he didn't think he could stand to be alone.

"I can't sleep like this," he pointed out, which was true enough (though his physical state had been turning on a sickle for hours; he might very well pass out of his own accord four minutes from now). He was still shaking, he still hurt — and Hudson was going to leave. "Sleep potion? Even a spell," he asked hopefully. He would have taken the drugs, too, if Hudson had offered them, but he knew better than to ask. "Don't leave me like this."

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