Someone was screaming. No, that wasn't right, it didn't come close to conveying the awful intensity of it. It was terrible to hear, the rage and horror and desperation in it was crushing down on him, drowning him. He tried to curl in on himself, covering his ears in an attempt to block it out, but that didn't do anything. It was like it was bypassing his ears entirely, projecting directly into his brain, causing a spike of pain through his skull that overwhelmed all thought.
His chest ached too, every movement causing his muscles to seize in pain, but his desperation to find some escape from the voices overrode all else as he tried to curl tighter in on himself, as if he could hide from all of it.
"Dave, Dave," the never ending voices cried, and it took him a while to remember that that was his name. They were pleading and begging and demanding from him something he had no hope of understanding, let alone giving, and he didn't know what to do.
"Dave!"
Another voice cut through the noise, calling to him, and he grabbed at it desperately, letting it pull him out of his own head to the surface. Finally, he managed to open his eyes, but nothing made sense. The light was blinding and the pavement under him was so unlike the trench they'd been crouched in for what felt like forever that he didn't recognize it at first.
But there was Klaus crouched over him, tear stained face and bloody hands, and Dave wanted to ask him what was wrong, if he was hurt, but the screaming once again interrupted all thought and he just lay there uselessly, hoping he could convey it all through a look.
Klaus was trying to say something to him, he could see his lips moving, hand on Dave's chest, but he couldn't hear a thing. He whimpered pathetically, but couldn't bring himself to feel embarrassed, not in front of Klaus, and not when everything hurt so much.
"So loud," Dave managed to say, but he couldn't hear his own voice through the noise and he didn't know if he was whispering or screaming. His throat felt raw and dry, so maybe he wasn't even coherent. "Why are they so loud?"
Klaus stared at him in confusion, glancing around as if looking for whatever he was talking about.
Dave still couldn't hear him, but he could read his lips clearly when Klaus asked, "Who?"
"You don't hear the screaming?" Dave asked, wondering if they were still on the battlefield. Or maybe in the med tent. That might explain it.
He watched as, slowly, confusion became realization and then dawning horror, and then Klaus was scrabbling at his pockets, looking for something. Dave wanted to ask him what he was doing, where they were and what was happening, but he couldn't get his thoughts in order, let alone form any more words. Klaus pressed pills to his lips and he swallowed them dry, hoping they were some kind of painkiller, and then Klaus was bodily lifting him into his arms, clutching him tightly, letting Dave bury his face in his neck.
He tried to just focus on Klaus, on the familiar and comforting feel of him around him, his smell mixed with acrid smoke and gunpowder, and wish for unconsciousness. It would be a gift, at this point. He wasn't sure how long it took, but eventually he thought he heard Klaus whispering apologies as the screaming finally, finally, grew quieter, and he wanted to ask why, to comfort and reassure him, but he could feel the darkness claiming him and there was no fighting it.