He didn't protest. The bed seemed like the most comfortable he'd ever laid on right about now. He fought the urge to slip from consciousness as soon as his head hit the pillow, the sting from the peroxide helping to keep him present. "Shane," he said. "Shane C--" He stopped. He was definitely, absolutely distracted, to the point where it might be dangerous. He was going to have to be more careful with what he said. "Marion. Shane Marion." His voice was thin with exhaustion. The sharp teeth were gone, disappeared sometime during the stitching. "Yours?"