His eyes blinked open slowly. He was lying on the ground and the air was unbearably hot. Where was he…and why was the sky all hazy?

What happened?

Mechanically, he sat up and the whole world tilted. There was a horrible ringing in his ears and a pounding in his head. Not great signs. He slumped back down to the dirt and tried to swallow the nausea threatening to overcome him. He couldn't remember…why couldn't he remember?

Only then did the ringing in his ears subside for a moment, just for a moment. And he heard the screams.

Screams.

Why were people screaming?

He blinked once, then once more. There was the pricking of dust in his eyes, the dryness of it coating his nose and throat. He coughed, and tried to ignore the fact that it shot a worrying amount of pain through the right side of his chest. His headache pounded in rhythm with his heart beat, each thump sending a lance through his temples. He strained to breathe through the pain, swallowing compulsively. He just wanted it to go away, wanted it all to go away...

Ignore it. Try and focus. Focus. Maybe focus on why you're on your ass in the dirt? Or try and focus on why there's so much shit in the air, or why people are screaming...? Focus on something else. Something else…

His sea blue eyes observed the dust floating above him. He watched the particles drifting and dancing, twirling in the breeze. There were even some scraps of paper, and some charred debris, added into the mix every so often. It transfixed him, rooting him in place. That's a lot of dust, he mused. It almost felt like watching clouds in a bright blue sky on a warm summer's day. He used to love watching clouds, imagining the different shapes the formations made, tracing their paths as they glided out of sight. He could almost picture him and his dad, lying in the open field down the road from his house, pointing lazily up at the sky. A turtle. A dolphin. A dinosaur. The smell of freshly mown grass. The sun shining and the wind rustling the leaves in the trees. His dad's hand encircling his as they walked down the road. His favorite blue t-shirt. His mud-stained jeans. His mother's laugh…

Hawkeye pulled in a shuddering gasp, eliciting a painful coughing fit that left his head spinning and his chest aflame. He tried to focus again, realizing his thoughts had wandered…wait, why was he lying on the ground? He couldn't remember.

Ah. A sudden realization came to him. Headache, nausea, memory loss...concussion. Probably not serious. Definitely a minor one, has to be. I don't have time for anything else. Focus. Come on. He had to focus. He was lying on the ground, people were screaming, and he needed to remember. Remember…

Focus on the things you definitely know. This should be easy. Okay. Name? Hawkeye Pierce. One for one. Where are you? Korea…damn, wish I'd forgotten that bit. Anyways. Two for two. You're a surgeon in the 4077th MASH. Check, definitely remember living in this hell hole. Three for three. You're here with Henry and Radar and Trapper…Trapper…Trap!

His eyes flew open (he didn't even remember them closing, not a good sign) and he glanced around frantically. But he couldn't see anything through the dusty haze settling around him. Where was Trapper?

What were we doing…? Surgery. Right. Definitely surgery, non-stop, lots of casualties coming in…We ran out of supplies! That's right. Okay. I can do this. What next? We both ran out of surgery towards the supply room to grab blankets, plasma, and gloves…when…when a shell exploded! Holy shit, they were in the middle of an artillery barrage. Suddenly, the heat, smoke, ringing in his ears, and screaming all seemed to fall into place, like pieces in a twisted puzzle. The whizz of an incoming shell, Trappers hands on his chest as he shoved him back towards the safety of the OR, the loud boom as the shell impacted, heat from raining debris, the screams…

Trapper. He had to find Trapper.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through him as fear for his friend came to the forefront of his mind. What if Trapper was really hurt? What if he was badly injured, possibly bleeding out while he just sat here? Hawkeye steeled himself and decided to try and sit up again. He clenched his jaw in determination, and on the second try, Hawkeye found himself upright. The marching band taking up residence in his skull reached a crescendo and he had to forcefully swallow down the bile that rose in his throat. He looked to his left and saw nothing but dust, but to his right he could just make out the wall of the OR. If you can get up, you only have to make it a few feet to the wall. Baby steps, Hawk. Quit feeling sorry for yourself and get to side of that building.

Hawkeye took a quick inventory, trying to find any injuries he might have ignored up until now. He could see a peppering of cuts and scrapes from the debris on his arms and legs, he definitely had a broken rib or two if the stabbing pain in his chest was anything to go by, and he could feel a hefty welt and a stinging cut at the base of his skull. But nothing life threatening, he supposed.

Trapper. Get up, and find Trapper.

With fear and anxiety weighing heavy on his heart, Hawkeye pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. Three feet. You only have to make it three feet.

Knees buckling, his vision blurry, and with a hammering in his skull, he barely made it to the wall before collapsing down on to his hands and knees. Hawkeye retched, and what little he had been able to stomach from the mess earlier found its way back up. He leaned heavily against the wall of the OR, his ribs screaming in protest as he tried to catch his breath.

Find Trapper. Find Trapper. Find Trapper.

Knees buckling, his vision blurry, and with a hammering in his skull, he barely made it to the wall before collapsing down on to his hands and knees. Hawkeye retched, and what little he had been able to stomach from the mess earlier found its way back up. He leaned heavily against the wall of the OR, his ribs screaming in protest as he tried to catch his breath.

Find Trapper. Find Trapper. Find Trapper.