So, yeah, the story's about Greg Saunders coming back from the Old West to a present that's not his own. The Seven Soldiers of Victory were a team that were thrown back in time after trying to defeat Nebula Man and were saved by the JLA to finish the job.
This story will be about Greg trying his best to come to terms to this new world and try and actually rebuild his life here.
Greg Saunders was usually a very calm man. He didn't let much get to him. Usually. And he hadn't really felt too stressed out, even when he found himself in the middle of nowhere in a time before his own.
But now, though, he felt as if he were just about ready to run and hide his head underneath the nearest rock to be able to avoid any and everybody.
Why?
The answer was kind of confusing.
Greg had been able to survive living in the nineteenth century without much hassle because he was a cowboy, through and through. Even if he had been born much later, he already had an idea of how to live a rough life and didn't face much challenges because of the hard way he had been raised.
Now, though, he was in a time much after his own and had no idea how many of the norms of technology worked. Even the new age radios confused him and he had grown up with those things around him!
He was quite the odd man, choosing to live in the past rather than this future where Global Warming was a thing and vaccines that helped save countless lives were being rejected by a portion of the population.
He just wanted to return to his polio ridden life where he was ignorant to the dangers awaiting humanity.
"Mr. Saunders, I need you to come out of the supply closet."
There was that weirdly dressed man that had come to 'save' him from the Old West.
Greg liked him the least. It's not that he had a reason to hate the people that had collected him from the past- in fact, he should be grateful, if memory still worked- but he didn't like it here in the future. And because he didn't like it, he didn't like the people that had brought him here.
Honestly, there were two ways he could answer the brightly clad man. He could either cuss him off or explain the situation.
But he really didn't want to explain why he was freaking out over the toaster or why he didn't want to leave the simple looking supplies in the closet, nor hurt the red man's feelings. So, instead of speaking, the cowboy chose to pull his faithful hat- the one from back in 1945, not the worn and dirty ones from his time in the past- over his eyes and pretend he was sleeping besides the brooms.
The reason he had chosen to hide in the supply closet was really very simple. The kitchen held too much technology, the cafeteria was filled with heroes that made him feel so very old, the training rooms had too much technology as well, and… Well, any place that wasn't this closet seemed to be filled to the brim with trinkets so fancy he was sure he would accidentally brek.
The brooms, mops, and various liquids used for cleaning were the only real thing that reminded him of simpler times, even if they seemed to have been modified over the years.
When he and the rest of the soldiers had been thrown back in time, he had honestly expected to die. With no sight of his friends in a hostile environment he barely knew about, he was sure he'd end up taking a bullet to the arm for saying the wrong thing and dying from gangrene. And the thought of that alone had been enough to chill him to his very bone the very first day he had spent in the Wild West.
But now he found himself even more afraid of this future he knew absolutely nothing about than when he entered a time before his own. Maybe it was because he knew about the past rather than the future. Maybe he was afraid to face a life that he wasn't ready for. Maybe he just thought of the past as the lesser of two evils.
Be it as it may, though, he had no way of going back to the past or to what was supposed to be his life.
"We can't send you back to 1945, Mr. Pemberton. Your apparent deaths back then were for a reason."
Greg shifted from his left foot onto his right as he looked at the slightly scary man before him, one that called himself Batman.
He had been living since 1918, sure, and he knew of all the horrors of the depression much more intimately than most people alive in the year 2015, but now he was looking at someone that was undoubtedly older than him, when it came to age number. By chronological standards, Greg and the rest of the soldiers were almost a whole century old, Sir Justin even more. But Batman was, without a doubt, older than thirty, and that was older than Greg's twenty nine years of age.
"What do you mean, Batman? We don't belong in this world!" Star Spangled Kid- bless his ever fiery heart- was arguing Batman's point of making them stay in this odd future. "We have lives yet to live and we shouldn't be made to waste them in a time we don't belong in."
"Arguably, Sylvester, if we hadn't died by the fifties, we may still be living if we hadn't faced off against Nebula Man." Sylvester's good friend, Pat Dugan, remarked, crossing his arms with a soft smirk.
"You know what I mean, Stripesy!" Sylvester huffed softly, feeling dejected at his friend's mocking.
"I understand, Mr. Pemberton, but your deaths are a permanent part of the time stream. To send you back to continue your lives may alter the present. We can't afford to change a whole reality just to return four men."
Those words had stung Greg more than he cared to admit.
There were only four of them left. Sir Justin, Sylvester, Pat, and he were the only surviving members of their once glorious team.
Thinking back on the short time they spent together, Greg regretted not having seen through Tom's disguise. He also regretted not having spent more time with Lee and Wing.
He was a man out of time that knew very few people with very limited knowledge as to what had happened after he had been plucked from his rightful moment in time.
Apparently, Hitler had lost the war. His old friend, Heinrich Wagner, owed him a beer. An authentic one.
Then there was the myriad of different wars the United States had fought since the Second World War, but Greg didn't want to learn about those young soldiers just yet. He knew just how terrible war could be and knew for a fact the more modern ones weren't exempt from this rule. He just wasn't ready to hear any of the heart ache he knew would come from those stories.
Through his musings, he heard a knock on the door.
"Mr. Saunders, please come out."
He felt slightly bad at how pleading the voice sounded now.
"Ah have a right ta a nap, Jr.!" Greg grouched as best he could, trying to keep appearances up.
Just because he was afraid of this time didn't mean he would be giving up his reputation. In retrospect, his reputation meant almost nothing because he hadn't been seen in the past six decades, but he didn't really care. He was a man an wasn't about to be seen sniffling about like a child.
"Come on! I'm thirty-two!"
Greg chuckled softly at the hero's voice, "Yuh don't sound thirty-two, kid! 'Sides, Ah was wearin' these 'ere spurs from since before yuh were born!"
"That's not fair, though! You were born before my mom was born!"
"Ah am aware o' that, Flash Boy. Don't mean nothin' ta me, though."
"Flash, what are you doing here?"
Greg cursed inwardly at the sound of Batman's voice.
There were only two heroes he had bothered to learn the names of. The Flash and Batman. He knew Flash because he was the man that had taken him from the past, so it was kind of obvious he knew his name. Batman's, though, he knew because he had quickly learned to respect the younger/older man. And he was also aware of the fact that most of the people in this hunk o' metal called the Watchtower seemed to fear him completely.
"Oh, nothing." Flash chuckled nervously and Greg shook his head.
He'd have to teach that boy how to lie some time.
"Why are you talking to a supply closet's door?"
Right then and there, Greg could imagine the red clothed hero doing his best to act nonchalant, maybe even leaning against the door with his arms crossed, with a very badly made 'everything's fine' smile.
"Oh, just… You know… Arguing with… The broom and mops?"
"Oh, kid. Yuh poor thing." The cowboy shook his head as he got up from his place nestled between the various supplies, extending his arms over his head to stretch.
With a satisfying 'pop' from both shoulders, the man then rolled his neck and rubbed at his right wrist.
"Ah'm comin' out, junior!" He called, pushing at a button from inside the room to have the door swoosh open.
That was the only technological advancement he had seen that had not positively scared him upon seeing it.
Batman looked at Flash with an unamazed glance, then turned to Vigilante with what the man assumed was a quirked eyebrow.
Placing his bandana back over the lower half of his face, the man did his best to smile at both younger yet older men.
"Ah was just tryin' ta get some peace an' quiet, Batman. Somethin' that's not so easy ta get with so many people busslin' about."
Flash smiled at Batman in a not very convincing manner, "I was just asking him if he needed anything."
Greg now slapped Flash's back, even if it was a bit harsher than he intended it to be. "The kid means good, he's just barkin' up the wrong tree. Now why don't yuh two younglings go about yer normal lives? Ah may be old, but Ah don't really need any 'special attention'."
The look he got from Batman was enough to let Greg knew he wasn't buying a bit of the story.
Luckily for both Greg and Flash, at that precise moment the intercom of the Watchtower came to life.
"Batman, you are needed at the Monitor Bay."
Greg smiled as broadly as he could beneath the bandana as Batman glanced over him once more. Then, without a word, the man in the dark clothes turned around, cape billowing behind him, and stalked off.
After neither hero could see Batman anymore, Vigilante whistled loudly. "Well… He seemed like a regular Chatty Cathy!"
Flash groaned softly at that and Greg couldn't help but chuckle at him. Clearly, he was another that was afraid of the Bat.
"Mr. Saunders, please don't go around hiding in supply closets! I'm supposed to be taking you to your room, and Batman would kill me if anything happened to you because you managed to escape my sights!"
Greg waved the man away and began to walk away from the supply closet he had previously been hiding in, "Come on, kid! There's no reason ta act so afraid!"
Flash immediately ran after him, "I can't lose you, Greg!" He yelled, but when he spoke next, his tone of voice was much more serious, "Look, you guys gave up a lot for this world and the League's just trying to make sure you guys are as comfortable as possible."
The man continued talking about something or another, but the cowboy wasn't paying any more attention. Those words struck Greg's heart like lightning and he immediately stopped walking, hands going to clutch at his hips to keep himself from doing anything stupid the blabbering man.
It wasn't Flash's fault that two good men had to die. Nor was it his fault. But Greg had both loved and respected Lee Travis and Wing How and any reminder that they were gone and weren't ever coming back… Well… That just struck a chord deep in his heart.
"Ah am aware of our sacrifice, Flash."
The red clad man stopped talking as soon as he heard his name.
"Ah am also aware that in these new world with mechanical doohickies, I'm at sea!"
The worry on Flash's face melted into confusion, making Greg shake his head and wave him away.
"Ah need some dynamite."
"I don't think I can help you with that. But I'm pretty sure-"
Greg cut him off before the man could embarrass himself, "Ah need some whiskey, kid. Dynamite is slang for whiskey."
Flash's face immediately deflated in mortification.
"Oh."
With another shake of his head, the dark haired man began to walk away, silently wondering just why he had been forced to come to a time so far away from his own.
It didn't really seem like he would be fitting in any time soon.
I really hope you liked it. If you have any questions or comments, don't be afraid. Just review.