Waking up with a splitting headache that didn't feel like it belonged to him wasn't foreign, sometimes he'd subconsciously slip into people's minds like a physic sleep walk. Usually when he woke up after that, his mind felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to his skull and blown an air horn in his ears. This felt worse. This felt like someone had torn him apart with their teeth while he lay still. One of the memories he had on an almost constant repeat in his mind was that of Snake and Meryl's expression as they had stood up to walk away after beating him in combat. Meryl had seemed disgusted by his face for a few minutes, though she had slowly slipped to a seemingly neutral if not off put expression as he spoke. Though Snake's face had remained unchanged since the moment the gun had entered his hands despite whatever burst of adrenaline rushed through his veins. Tretij had been bested and it hurt to admit that. Though what hurt more was what he assumed to be your anxious thoughts running rampant through his mind. Ever since his near death, he'd had trouble limiting what he heard, he felt like a kid again, latching onto which ever thoughts seemed the loudest, the strongest emotion. He pushed himself to his feet and leaned against the frame of the doorway as he went to try and find where you currently were. You'd been nice enough to take him into your care after you'd come across him laying half way dead in a pile of his own blood. After moving him to a covert cabin you owned along the Canadian Coast, you'd waited for him to wake up after numerous treatments of his wounds. He'd been crabby for the most part and still to some extent, but he usually now just stayed quiet and kept to himself, seemingly aware of how lucky he was to even have some place to stay considering he was declared a dead war criminal and didn't imagine it'd be easy checking into any hotel like that. After finding you at your kitchen table, he declared through pain gritted teeth: "I need you to stop thinking, you're being too loud."