A/N: Snippet in 20 minutes.
He dreams about the War sometimes.
Who is he kidding? Not sometimes; all the time. Every minute his eyes close, every minute he doesn't see his ship, feel her engine humming, hear Wash and Zoë bickering, River being crazy, Simon chasing after her, Kaylee being overly cheerful, Jayne being…well, Jayne…
He's back in Serenity Valley.
The clean, homey smell of the ship fades to metallic tangs and rotting flesh, bodies left out to bake and stew in the sun, swelling. Insects, flying things bigger than bullets they seemed, swirling up and down like dust, gathering in swarms, drawn to the smell. They can't bury the bodies, Independent and Alliance alike.
Heat waves gather the dust up, making it hard to breathe. Sweat runs down his face, into his eyes, sweat and blood making him blind, making the terrain a crimson haze. He can pretend not to see, hiding behind blood and sweat and tears. But the smell, the smell doesn't go away. The putrid stench. Meat gone bad, left in the sun.
A rumble, a jerk and he wakes, dazed, bile on his tongue. Everything's quiet, still and dark. He blinks the haze of blood and sweat and tears away, eyes needing time to adjust. Curved wall. Ladder up to the hatch.
Serenity, just Serenity.
A sigh and he stares up at the ceiling, no longer in the mood for rest. He dreams about the War sometimes.
End.