Sarge has decades of ignoring anything that is unpleasant, which, to be fair, is most things in life. In very rare cases and if he is properly provoked he might not ignore some asshole that needs a few punches. That much is a given. But anything else is swiftly ignored. That very much applies to the wet spot on his back that can hardly be drool because the kid is dehydrated and he doesn't seem that far gone that he is drooling. And crying would probably an appropriate response in times like these - that is as far as he lets himself think on that because under o circumstance ever does he even think about doing such things because he quit that cold turkey over twenty years ago.
What he absolutely can't ignore are the roaming and and the nuzzling. Fucking nuzzling him. He stops and opens his mouth a couple of times before he is even capable of making any sounds and even then they are not even remotely human. He's sure Rodeo would laugh about his growling but he does that sometimes because he is still pushing around words in his head that might not sound quite like the death threat he instinctively wants to utter. And then he is fairly certain that the kid, Wren, let's remember that name, kisses him and his arms drop away from the boy's legs. Not that it matters anyway since he is hanging on to him like some kind of koala, but still. Maybe it's a form of shock he is experiencing but he raises his arms, deliberately slow, and holds Wren's wrists to stop him from touching. "You need to stop that, kid. I ain't like that." Whether that refers to his orientation or his stance on taking advantage of obviously distressed minors may forever remain a mystery but his tone is firm nonetheless. "I'm Sarge," he adds about a minute later, after his brain allowed him to move his feet towards their destination.