Eventually Dorian sleeps. And as he predicts, not a thing bothers him. He and the world separate, and for a time even the Fade is dark and unobtrusive. It's precisely what he needs. He doesn't so much as stir when someone else enters the room, merely curls further into the Bull's side, unconsciously seeking more contact. He sleeps deep, breathing slow and even, head pillowed against the curve of Bull's shoulder.

The rest and the simple skinship does wonders. When he does wake--some time after Bull begins to dip back into consciousness as well--it is with a much clearer head. It takes him a moment, of course, to realize where he is, but he remembers the events of the last few days quickly enough after that. For the space of a single, shuddering inhale, he almost breaks down again. The situation, now that he examines it without a mind clouded by poison and fatigue, is even more dire than he realized, and Bull's position in all of it is...worrying.

Still, he trusts the man at his side more than anyone. He can believe that he is safe in this room, for the time being. Dorian buries his face into the crook of Bull's neck and closes his eyes again. He is still fatigued and injured and will bear the scars of his interrogation for some time, and such weariness isn't cured by a single bath, meal, or sleep. Still, his mind is his own again, which is worth everything. The effects of the magebane, too, are wearing off. It's a start.

"So it wasn't all some strange, terrible Fade vision," he murmurs regretfully, and the arm he has draped over Bull's chest tightens marginally. "There's that hope dashed."