John's voice jolts him into consciousness while the sensation of things crawling down his throat is still very much forefront in his addled awareness, and he nearly chokes on his own spit as he screams himself awake. He lurches back, startled by the proximity more than anything, staring at John with wide, terrified eyes for a fraction of a second before he curls over on himself, coughing, trying not to retch.

"Jesus Christ," he whispers, scrubbing at the tears in his eyes with no hope of stopping them. "I, I'm sorry, I— Did I wake you?" He draws in a shaky breath, struggling to get himself together. It's a losing fight. He's trembling all over, and it's all he can do to keep from sobbing. He hates this, taking John's room even at John's own insistence, now waking him up because of a bloody nightmare. What is he, a child? "I'll... I'll be okay in a minute," he mumbles, utterly unconvincing but not sure what else to say.