Sitwell's response was monosyllabic and hoarse, but it was a response and that could only be a positive. Maybe. He really did mean to say more than that and thank Coulson for his thoughtful attention, but it was bafflingly challenging to work his heavy tongue once Coulson had him tucked into the cozy warmth of the sled. The blood still seeped through his clothes, though, and he could feel it filling the sled by the time he was dragged into the shade of the tent, which was a relief in itself and made Sitwell relax further; no need to fight anymore, everything was alright. If he settled in, he could just drift off to sleep and his back wouldn't hurt anymore and the cold wouldn't be so aggressively will-sucking for a nice little bit. He couldn't feel his hands or feet anymore, anyway. Now was the time to nod off before they started stinging again.