[There is usually a wariness to Dean that speaks to the life he's lead, to how he expects to be attacked at any moment, expects any element or any person in his surroundings to become a threat and to be prepared to deal with that. He sleeps with his boots on. He's always wearing his jacket no matter the weather. Even too drunk to string a sentence together he tracks the movement of the people around him and reacts to them.
Stiles steps up to the bed and there is none of that in Dean now. He's breathing, shallow and slow through his mouth, and upon further inspection his eyes aren't completely closed but neither could they be called open. He either doesn't realize Stiles is there, or does not care.
It's a little of both. He doesn't react to his name and does not acknowledge the question. Whatever happens will happen. Dean intends to let it. There is not a single scrap of energy left in him to bother answering.]
[ Spam ]
Stiles steps up to the bed and there is none of that in Dean now. He's breathing, shallow and slow through his mouth, and upon further inspection his eyes aren't completely closed but neither could they be called open. He either doesn't realize Stiles is there, or does not care.
It's a little of both. He doesn't react to his name and does not acknowledge the question. Whatever happens will happen. Dean intends to let it. There is not a single scrap of energy left in him to bother answering.]