(no subject)
Sam itched.
He'd been on the island for two weeks now, and every time the worst of it was over, he turned out wrong. He chewed on his lip and the inside of his cheeks until they bled. He bit his nails, and then his cuticles. He tapped his foot when sitting, and he never stood still long. The hut was okay, for what it was, and Sam had slept in worse, but he hadn't slept a full night since arriving. He always woke up, tossing and turning and covered in a light sweat, after an hour or two, and lay staring at the ceiling for hours until dawn broke or went walking along the lighted boardwalk to keep from going crazy. He bit his tongue to keep from snapping at people, even if they deserved it, because honestly he felt like he might snap in two given the first opportunity.
His blood was crawling through his veins, trying to dig its way out from the inside. And it itched.
It wasn't all the time. Some days were fine, like Halloween, surprisingly. Even getting egg on his face, Sam had a better night then than he had in a long time. And he'd slept for four whole hours thanks to the alcohol.
But just when he thought he was okay, something happened. Like today.
Someone had killed a feral pig. Just some member of the hunting crew, probably, doing his or her civic duty. It had been skinned and butchered, every piece valuable in its own way, and the sides of raw meat were wrapped up and stored. Most to the fridge, since it wasn't like you had much in the way of leftovers on an island of hundreds with one kitchen. (Okay, two, if you counted the Winchester.)
Sam had wanted a sandwich, and now he stood with his hand on the fridge door, holding it open as he stared at the meat. Blood had gathered in the corner of one package, and the wax paper was damp with red. Sam stared, his mind somewhere else entirely, and bit down on the inside of his lip until he accidentally drew blood. The dark, coppery taste hit his tongue and he slammed the door of the fridge shut.
[Not the best time to meet him, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't. :D He'll just be a bitch tetchier than normal, as he thinks he's going through withdrawal. ST is necessary; LT are welcome.]
He'd been on the island for two weeks now, and every time the worst of it was over, he turned out wrong. He chewed on his lip and the inside of his cheeks until they bled. He bit his nails, and then his cuticles. He tapped his foot when sitting, and he never stood still long. The hut was okay, for what it was, and Sam had slept in worse, but he hadn't slept a full night since arriving. He always woke up, tossing and turning and covered in a light sweat, after an hour or two, and lay staring at the ceiling for hours until dawn broke or went walking along the lighted boardwalk to keep from going crazy. He bit his tongue to keep from snapping at people, even if they deserved it, because honestly he felt like he might snap in two given the first opportunity.
His blood was crawling through his veins, trying to dig its way out from the inside. And it itched.
It wasn't all the time. Some days were fine, like Halloween, surprisingly. Even getting egg on his face, Sam had a better night then than he had in a long time. And he'd slept for four whole hours thanks to the alcohol.
But just when he thought he was okay, something happened. Like today.
Someone had killed a feral pig. Just some member of the hunting crew, probably, doing his or her civic duty. It had been skinned and butchered, every piece valuable in its own way, and the sides of raw meat were wrapped up and stored. Most to the fridge, since it wasn't like you had much in the way of leftovers on an island of hundreds with one kitchen. (Okay, two, if you counted the Winchester.)
Sam had wanted a sandwich, and now he stood with his hand on the fridge door, holding it open as he stared at the meat. Blood had gathered in the corner of one package, and the wax paper was damp with red. Sam stared, his mind somewhere else entirely, and bit down on the inside of his lip until he accidentally drew blood. The dark, coppery taste hit his tongue and he slammed the door of the fridge shut.
[Not the best time to meet him, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't. :D He'll just be a bitch tetchier than normal, as he thinks he's going through withdrawal. ST is necessary; LT are welcome.]