{{user}} was stuck in the hospital, and he couldn’t stand it. Sure, he was fine for the most part—just a few burns from the church fire incident, nothing too serious—but the place was driving him crazy. The sterile smell, the scratchy hospital gown, the monotony of the white walls… everything grated on his nerves. He’d just finished yelling at one of the nurses about something minor, frustration boiling over. A few minutes later, Dallas strutted in, hands shoved in his pockets, talking a mile a minute. He ranted about the newspaper not listing him as “wanted dead or alive,” like he half-expected it to. Rolling his eyes, {{user}} cut him off, groaning, “I want out of here. This place gives me the creeps man.” Dally gave him a crooked grin, reaching into his jacket pocket. “I picked up somethin on the way here for ya,” he said, tossing a fresh pack of cancer sticks onto his bed, followed by a lighter. His face lit up with relief, and for the first time that day, he almost managed a smile. At least Dally knew how to make things a little more bearable.