Author's note: Hello! I've updated this chapter as it wasn't long enough, I'm also finally working on the next chapter :)
Chapter 1
Gunshots and shouting. These were the first noises he heard as he drifted into consciousness. This wasn't an unusual occurrence; there were always gunshots and there was always shouting.
Lifting his head slowly and painfully, he listened. It seemed closer this time, and more frantic.
Dean Winchester pushed himself off the dusty floor, grunting as he tried to ignore his screaming muscles and the searing pain of fresh wounds being moved. It took all his effort to position himself up against the wall in a semi-sitting, semi-laying position. Stars appeared before his eyes.
The world faded back into darkness.
He was jolted awake by the sound of the door being forced open and violently slammed against the wall.
Heavy boots. Four pairs. Possibly military.
Dean registered the sound but kept his head down. Fearing his execution date was finally upon him – why else would they send four guys when he was in such a bad state - he kept his head down and clenched his fists, willing his hands not to betray his shaking.
A pair of boots stopped in front of him. Three months ago he would have grabbed the guy behind the knees and taken him down. But that was three months ago, he'd been to Hell and back since then.
The person in the boots crouched down to his level, pulling him up into a more upright position. He kept his head down, defeated.
"Dean Winchester. Captain. 389016." He croaked out his name, rank and number for the hundredth time that week; his throat dry and filled with dust.
"Semper Fi, Captain. Semper Fi." The man crouched in front of him said quietly, tilting Dean's head back gently. It was just loud enough for Dean to hear and it startled him. He hadn't heard an American accent in months.
Dean looked up for the first time. Instead of the dark glare of another torturer, he saw concerned eyes looking back at him. Concerned blue eyes.
It was a second before he realised Blue Eyes was holding a container to his chapped lips and pouring water into his extremely dry mouth, it started flowing down his chin before Dean's brain thought to swallow. He choked a little and Blue Eyes pulled the water away.
As he put the cap back on the bottle and stowed it away, Dean caught the flash of wings on the stranger's collar.
He felt a sense of relief wash over him and allowed a ghost of a smile to cross his face as he thought back to what his mother used to tell him as a child – angels must indeed be watching over him.
Before he passed out again, he vaguely heard the stranger's deep voice telling him they were here to take him home, a crackle of a radio and another voice in the distance saying "Dean Winchester is saved."
When Dean woke up he was in a cot in a field hospital, there were a few others dotted around the ward but the tent was quiet save for the murmur of a group of people near the entrance. His body felt light enough to drift away, he giggled at the thought.
The group by the entrance to the tent looked over at the sound and started moving his way, someone in a white coat stopped the man in desert camo with a hand to the chest and the man left.
"I see someone's enjoying the morphine," a young male nurse smiled down at him.
Dean shifted his gaze slowly from where the man in the khaki and tan coloured utility uniform had exited to smile up at the nurse.
"Yes, sir." He attempted to lift his arm in a salute and winced in pain.
The man in the white coat came up behind the nurse with a clipboard, jotting something on the pad.
"Welcome back, Captain. You had us worried for a few days there." The doctor smiled and ordered the nurse to fetch some more sedatives and saline for his drip. "You'll be back on home soil soon, just rest up and let us take care of the rest."
As soon as the nurse came back and replaced his drip, Dean slipped into a painless sleep.
The next time he woke up he was on the move, two marines carried his stretcher and another walked beside his head carrying the drip and a duffel with his initials on it. It was hot and the sun was beating down on him, the jostling of the stretcher movement hurt like hell and he felt like he had an anvil sat on his head.
"Marine," he grunted.
"Yes, sir?" The Marine by his head said, looking shocked that he'd woken up. The Marine in front turned his head but kept moving.
"Where are we going?"
"Sir, you're going home."
As if on cue, they moved under the shadow of a carrier just as the engines started up, the propellers of the engines making the dust fly all over but Dean didn't mind, it was a nice breeze under the midday sun.
The three Marines got Dean's stretcher settled and strapped in, hooked his drip somewhere above his head and turned to leave as more marines filtered onto the aircraft with their bags, some with obvious injuries but most beaming and talking animatedly at the prospect of finishing their tour of duty.
A sad smile drifted across Dean's face as he thought about his little band of brother's, his A class team of misfits who were probably already shipped back home, not to see loved ones but to be added to the long list of serving men and women who would be remembered for the lives they gave in the name of freedom. He promised himself that he'd personally toast each and every member of his command that didn't make it back next time he was at a bar, probably best to do that after he visited their families rather than before.
Another young Marine came over and took up the seat next to his as the plane started to move toward the runway.
"Corporal Adam Milligan at your service, Sir." He saluted before buckling in for the journey.
"Corporal," Dean acknowledged.
"I have an endless supply of morphine and will be replacing your drip, Sir."
"Excellent. I'd rather not remember this ride, Milligan, if you get my drifted."
Adam smiled and rummaged around in a med bag he was carrying.
The last thing Dean heard before the morphine took over was Adam saying, "Loud and clear, Sir."
To be continued...
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