Dean was an urban kind of guy. After three days, he was already itching to find better company, even if said company did include a friend. It wasn't the posse, it wasn't home. He needed more than that, he needed a pack. So about a month into their forced island adventure, he was starting to feel like this was all a dream. It had to be, right? Armies, even privately funded ones, had to come back for their people. Right?
Not a dream, his peeling and reddened skin was telling him as he cowered in the cove that afternoon. Everything burned. His clothes stank, his ears and knees and shoulders ached, and the smell of the salt water was making him nauseous. Only the pool water could save him, and even then, Dean was miserable. "Fuuuuuuck."
Grifferie
gonna start with the one and move on from there maybe?
