Title: Blink of an Eye
Fandom: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D/Sandman
Characters: Phil Coulson and Death
Word count: 821
Rating: G
Disclaimer: The characters and situations portrayed here are not mine. Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D belongs to ABC Studios and Marvel, while Sandman belongs to Vertigo/DC. This is a fan authored work and no profit is being made. Please do not archive this story without my permission.
Author’s Notes: This prompt really came at the perfect time for me, as this scenario immediately sprung to mind. The day before the prompt came out I was watching the S.H.I.E.L.D episode The Magical Place, and I immediately started wondering what Coulson might have experienced in between dying and coming back afterwards...
Fun fact: I wrote the entire story calling Phil "Greg", probably because the actor's name is Clark Gregg. :~P
Summary: Being alive isn't the only thing Coulson remembers.

~*~
Dying doesn't hurt as much as he expected it to, Phil muses as he lies on the floor and feels the blood rush out of him. He's had more painful wounds before, and if truth be told he's a little annoyed that the wound that is going to kill him isn't making more of an impact on him now. That being said, dying doesn't feel as profound as he thought it would be either. His body and mind are both simply going numb, and despite all the commotion around him he closes his eyes and drifts into darkness.

"Wake up, Phil," someone tells him, prodding his side gently with what feels like the toe of a boot.
"What?" he grumbles, eyes still closed. "I'm supposed to be dead, aren't I?"
There is a soft chuckle next to his ear, and curiosity makes him open his eyes and look. A pretty girl smiles down at him and he blinks a few times at the sight, raising his hand to rub his face.
"Hi," she greets him, and he realises that he knows her somehow, but he can't quite remember where he's seen her before. She's a doctor, he assumes, although her outfit is about as far from the medical 'look' as anyone can get. He thinks it's called Gothic fashion or something like that; all black clothes and hair, with as pale a skin as a person can manage. The fancy curl in the corner of her eye is a nice touch, he decides absently as he scrutinises her, aware of her distinctly amused look.
"Hello, ah..." he trails off, not knowing her name. "Hello." He smiles, a little sheepish but mostly from a feeling of contentment. The girl smiles back at him as he sits up and leans back on his hands.
"How are you feeling?"
"Great." His smile widens. "How did you do it? I was sure I'd had it this time."

Her expression changes subtly. Although she's still smiling pleasantly at him there's suddenly something sad in her eyes, and for a moment he wonders which part of him the doctors couldn't fix and why he can't seem to notice that anything's wrong. Then he realises what she means, the moment before she confirms it.
"Well, Phil, I'm afraid you were right."
"I'm dead?" he asks incredulously. She nods, and he looks down at himself and pats his chest, finding no evidence of his injuries. "I don't feel dead..." he pauses, thinking. "In fact, I feel great!"
She nods, her smile no longer sad.
"That's because you're no longer in your body."
Before he can help himself he gives a disbelieving huff.
"What, so this is my soul?"
"You don't believe in souls?" she asks him gently. He shrugs.
"I have a hard time believing in things I can't see."
Her expression grows mischievous, and she spreads her arms to gesture at their surroundings, which he has so far been ignoring in favour of the more immediate concern of his death.
"Well, have a look."

For the first time since he woke up Phil looks around himself. At first he'd believed that he was in the infirmary, a notion that was dispelled when he noticed the hard surface he found himself on. After that he'd sort of figured that he might be in some sort of limbo, or maybe even - such a vain hope - in Heaven. Now, as he takes in his surroundings, he realises that he hasn't moved at all. A team of doctors are packing up their instruments around him, conversing softly. Close by is a team of soldiers, their faces stiff and angry, their hands clutched around their guns. He just manages to catch a glimpse of Director Fury as he strides out of the room, his entire body stiff and his shoulders high. Finally he looks down, and finds himself staring at two familiar feet.
"Oh crap," he exclaims weakly before turning around. He looks different from the outside, he decides, and not just because of all the blood and the hole in his chest. Although his skin is pale his face looks peaceful, as if he's sleeping. It's an expression he's never seen on himself before, except in old childhood pictures.

He doesn't know how long he's been staring at himself when he feels a hand on his shoulder. It's somewhat of a relief to turn his gaze away from the body on the floor and instead look at the pretty young girl next to him.
"Are you ready to leave now?" she asks, and he nods.
"I don't suppose I've got much of a choice."
"Not really."
She holds out her hand towards him, and he takes it a if he were a child. As the air fills with the sound of wings, he finally remembers where he's seen her before and his eyes grow wide.
"I know who you are."