He might have felt fifty shades of shitty, but this was quite enjoyable. He wanted to reach for him, but Alex was keeping him busy with clothes. "It's a good dream. You're welcome to join." He lifted arms, attempting to wiggle out of his shirt, wincing as the dried blood pulled off the wounds underneath. He groaned and took another hit off the blood bag. This time he drained half.
"Did I tell you that I was in WWII in the dreams. I started in the Civil War, and was turned right after." He didn't know if he'd mentioned that, or why he thought of it now. It was helping him focus on something other than the sting. "I'm glad you're here."
He moved uncomfortably, feeling a nice gash on his back. He had somehow managed to get flipped over by the thing more than once. The rock hadn't felt good either. "How did you learn all this?"