Stakeouts. Stakeouts was possibly the dullest part of the job. At least until something happened.
So whenever he got assigned to be stakeout in the back of a van, he always tried to grab something he could carve. Whether it was a random twig or some piece of wood that had been cut into an appropriate size.
He never sat with it the whole time. Some of the time was spent staring a hole through the monitors, and some of the time was spent swapping tall tales with the other person in the van.
But when the hours grew long and boring, that's when he pulled out his knife and started making whatever he saw in the twig or wood block.
Sometimes he made figurines for his nieces and nephews, sometimes he made something that could be hung on a necklace, and sometimes he just carved away until nothing but woodchips were left.
He was bored, it was their fifth hour in the van and absolutely nothing had happened. Nothing.
He rolled his eyes and looked over at Deacon who had his book out.
Nothing was happening.
Nothing.
Not- Oumph!
He looked down at his hands.
His left thumb pressed way into the blade.
He wondered when it would start bleeding, and the answer was a short second after he had thought about it.
He removed the knife, and tucked it away. Then in lack of better suited things to dress his thumb with, he used the sleeve end of his sweater. Pulling the sleeve down over his hand, before wrapping it around his thumb until it wouldn't go around it anymore.
He let out a small sigh, figuring that it probably needed a stitch or two when he was done for the day. Until then, he just needed to keep it somewhat clean.
In the other corner of the van's back, he heard Deacon sniff a couple of times, before the older man looked over at him, "Did it start to smell like wet iron to you too?"
"It's blood." Tan squeezed his eyes shut, "I just sliced my thumb."
"…Okay…" Deacon frowned, "You good?"
"Yeah. Just embarrassed."
