#no9

Darkness. 

Complete and utter silence. 

A floating sensation. 

And then—

A high-pitched ringing in his ears as the ground beneath him vibrates violently with the intensity of the bombs going off around him. Strong hands dragging him across the dirt and aggravating his broken ribs. Blurred snapshots of a nearby building collapsing in on itself in a mushroom cloud of dust, and then—

Darkness once again, and blissful silence, a feeling of weightlessness washing over him in calming waves. This, this he can get used to, he thinks. This feeling like he's flying and where nothing hurts, where there is no sorrow, nothing at all for the first time in years, and it feels good. It feels peaceful in a way he never thought he would ever get to experience. If given the choice, he will gladly spend the rest of eternity in this space.

But as with everything, the choice isn't his to make. 

"Sergeant Winchester?"

"Dean. Dean, don't go to sleep on me, brother."

"Hang in there, soldier. We're getting you home. Get me the fucking medic."

It takes several seconds for Dean's brain to register what is happening to him. He can pinpoint some of the voices. Bobby shouting orders, as he usually does, and Benny squeezing his hand and telling him to hang in there. Benny sounds worried, so Dean tries to squeeze back, only to find that he can't. Something's wrong. Seriously wrong. And try as he may, he can't remember how he ended up on a stretcher being treated for injuries. It's all too much, too loud, too bright. Something hot and wet soaks his right shoulder, his mouth is filled with a coppery taste that makes him gag as he coughs up a few loose teeth. 

A voice is speaking to him, but Dean can't make out any of it over the insufferable ringing in his ears. When darkness overcomes him a third time, Dean's last thought is to pray that Sammy will be alright.