Homecoming

The trip was a solemn one. The bus creaked every so often and rain pounded against the rickety windows of the vehicle. There was no doubt this bus saw many man – just as often as it didn't see those same men return to it. Everyone was silent even though all the seats were filled. Some men were clutching pictures of their families or the dog tags of a fallen comrade.

One man, further to the back, was clutching onto the person next to them as if they were his only reason to cling to this earth – he probably was. Alfred Jones tried to ignore all these people as the buss forced him to sway in his seat – shoulder constantly brushing the window – and it clacked, clacked, clacked. The rain continued to pour.

He gathered everyone felt the same – it would be odd returning home to a house full of happy people. Their Hardship Tour had lasted longer than any other he had faced. Two years was a long time. Many of the soldiers on this bus had gotten closer – if only to grasp onto some sort of bond when they needed emotional support.

Alfred had done the same, of course. The strange British man with a wicked tongue and a constant scowl. He had given a lot of structure to Alfred's young life – being only nineteen when he first saw war, it was nothing short of a miracle that he survived.

The British Man – Lieutenant Kirkland – had gone back to England. Alfred had almost cried, but with a sharp "Belt up, Lad! Get moving, go see your family!" the man had waved him off as he boarded his plane and was off. Alfred wrapped his arms around his torso – the sounds of cloth scraping against cloth was unnaturally loud even with the rain and the creaky, old bus thrumming loudly against everything.

He gave a small sigh. He was excited to see his family, sure, but…

Would they understand? He was extremely glad his little brother was too young to head off to war, even if was only by a year. The draft had ended just before little Matthew's eighteenth birthday, but Alfred was already eighteen, almost nineteen, and had already registered for drafting the year before.

He just didn't know what to make of it. After two years, he was finally going home! He was almost twenty-one now. He would be in almost a month. It would be so strange… how would he look to his family? Would they be able to he killed so many people – would they know he counted them all so he knew how many lives he was guilty of snuffing out? Would they see the haunted look that swam behind his eyes – behind every soldiers eyes on this godforsaken bus?

Alfred kept thinking and thinking, the harsh patter of the rain still going strong just outside the window. He had not realized the bus had slowly pulled to a stop until the man next to him, at least twenty years his senior, gripped his shoulder softly and mumbled "It's time to get off, son." Alfred gave a forced smile and thanked the man. He grabbed his rucksack from the storage place overhead and moved along the isle of the bus.

It seemed like an eternity before he reached the end of the isle, holding his breath and wondering who had come for him in this messy weather.

He hadn't expected his little brother to be waiting anxiously for him to get off, holding a big black umbrella and a bright red and white hooded sweatshirt. Matthew had a small frown on his face, desperately looking through the soldiers to find his brother. His glasses were slightly fogged up thanks to he heat of his breath and the chill of the rain.

It only took a second longer to find him. "Al!" he called, though his voice never got very loud at all. Still, Alfred looked his way, as if instinctively knowing he was there. The blue eyes were piercing against the dark rings under Alfred's once healthy face.

The older of the brothers strode forward with long, even strides – almost as if he was still required to march, but remembering not to – ignoring the heavy rain that completely soaked through his uniform.

Whatever emotion he had expected, it was not this. This agonizing pain of missing someone so deeply. His body shook as he moved forward and gripped his brother desperately, trying to make sure he was real. A sob choked from the back of his throat as he felt strong arms grip him back in equal desperation.

They lost a concept of time, sobbing until their tears ran out. Matthew had cried for a lost brother returning to him – tears of joy. Alfred, though – he cried for everyone he had killed, for all the soldiers lost from his battalion, and finally, tears of shock at finally being home with the brother he hadn't seen since he was the tender age of eighteen.

"Welcome home," came the choked voice of Matthew. Alfred didn't respond verbally. He leaned back, giving a small watery smile, eyes red from crying. The rain had washed away the tear evidence, and only then had the brother realized they had slid to the wet concrete, umbrella tossed to the side. He gave a small kiss to his brother's forehead – a soft sigh fogging up the younger boy's glasses once again.

"Let's get you home, eh?" Matthew said softly, voice still rough. "Let's," came an equally hoarse response. Alfred rocked and pulled himself off the ground, all the while keeping his brother within his arms. He didn't want to let go, never mind that it was easier to get up with the aid of his hands.

Matthew ran a hand through Alfred's cropped hair before bending and picking up the umbrella. They walked towards home, the rain still pitter-pattering on their heads. Alfred gave a small smile – maybe…

Maybe everything would eventually be okay…

Bottle Message: What do you think? I don't think anything really needs to be explained here at all.

Word Count for this fic is 1,027