Work Text:
Half asleep but wide awake, Bill stumbles across camp, his heart drumming against his chest and fragments of the nightmare—of death and pain and loss—swirling through his groggy brain. Trying to control his jagged breathing, Bill grabs a liquor bottle (he doesn’t know what alcohol it is, nor does he care) from the chuck wagon and staggers towards the lake.
Bill sinks onto a log by the shore as he pops the bottle’s cork with his teeth, chugging mouthful after mouthful of alcohol, and hoping enough liquor will drown out the memories bombarding him (but it never works).