[It's true that Dean hadn't willingly reached out to anyone or allowed anyone to reach out to him; he had even less reason, now, to trust that any of this was anything other than something wanting still more from him, though he couldn't answer what that might have been. He had stopped trying to figure out the motives of immortal, all powerful creatures a long time ago, and begun resisting across the board. Even that had been used against him, but at least in those cases, he hadn't been willingly complicit.
That didn't mean, however, that while he was here he didn't intend to take advantage of the basic necessities: he had no intention whatsoever of allowing himself to be weakened by hunger, to be laid low by dehydration, not when there were resources available for that. Alcohol withdrawal had done a number on him the past couple days but that was just pain, just illness: he could withstand that, he had before, he would again.
Food doesn't, exactly, sound like enough of a tradeoff to subject himself to visitors of any kind, and especially not his warden. It's ingrained habit to take advantage of a food source when it's available, though, and the logical knowledge that he isn't currently hungry but he could do with the supplies later that, several moments after Stiles announces any of this, the hunter finally adjusts his own position to be able to mostly see the door down through the hatch in the ceiling and calls:]
Leave it on the table. [His voice, as usual, is rough but more hoarse this time than usual; it is also, of course, the opposite of inviting.]
no subject
That didn't mean, however, that while he was here he didn't intend to take advantage of the basic necessities: he had no intention whatsoever of allowing himself to be weakened by hunger, to be laid low by dehydration, not when there were resources available for that. Alcohol withdrawal had done a number on him the past couple days but that was just pain, just illness: he could withstand that, he had before, he would again.
Food doesn't, exactly, sound like enough of a tradeoff to subject himself to visitors of any kind, and especially not his warden. It's ingrained habit to take advantage of a food source when it's available, though, and the logical knowledge that he isn't currently hungry but he could do with the supplies later that, several moments after Stiles announces any of this, the hunter finally adjusts his own position to be able to mostly see the door down through the hatch in the ceiling and calls:]
Leave it on the table. [His voice, as usual, is rough but more hoarse this time than usual; it is also, of course, the opposite of inviting.]