Sorry it took so long to start this story, had to try and figure out what I was going to do with it. I know this is a super short chapter for such a long wait, but hopefully I'll start updating more regularly again. Hope you enjoy it! I don't own anything I don't own.
Don had forgotten how alone he was. Spending those three years locked in a tank with four other men had erased the memory of a small box he lived in by himself. When he finally got home it was only to find that the world had moved on without him. His house had been sold to someone else; his job had been taken over while he was away. It was almost as if he'd really died in Germany.
The government had decided that most of their veterans would get enough money to get back on their feet, so he wasn't lacking for resources. He wasn't sure what to do with himself, where to go or what to do with this money they were promising. It didn't seem right to stay here in Oregon, feeling like a stranger that didn't belong anymore. That was how he found himself packing everything into a duffel bag and sitting on the bench at the bus station. People gave him a curious look as they passed by, until there came one that he recognized.
"Don Collier, so you survived after all?" inquired an elderly man. Harold had lived in the neighborhood for his entire life, longer than anyone else Don knew. Before the war the two had been friendly enough, and Harold had been one of the few people to see Don off when the draft came. It was fitting that they had come into contact once more.
"By the skin of my teeth, I assure you. How've you been, Harold?"
"Chaotic beyond belief. War took a lot out of everyone, but you'd know that already. What are you doing here? You just got back and you're leaving again."
"Things have changed Harold. I don't think I can pretend that everything's normal again just because I want them to be. There's somewhere else I need to be."
"I'm going to miss seeing you around here." The older man clapped Don on the shoulder and Don offered a friendly wave in return, the last familiar face he'd see walking away.
When the bus finally arrived he paid his fee and took his seat, his destination much farther than the rest of the passengers aboard. Strangers kept looking at him, the battle scarred soldier with his dog tags still around his neck. People he knew had looked at him that way too, the look of surprise. It was as if no one was supposed to come back, all the soldiers were supposed to die overseas. Maybe in some other time he hadn't survived. But he paid no mind. All that he was thinking about was where he was going, and who he had to find when he got there. He had lots of time, just enough memories to fill that time.
"The damn krauts want us to lose our minds in here. I'm not going to let that happen to me, what about the rest of you?"
"You two are going to take care of these bodies. Pile them up, and burn them."
"They don't want anyone to survive; they want an excuse to kill us all."
"Do you trust me, Norman?"
"With my life, sir."
"Saving these tags, it makes me feel like I'm doing some kind of good in here."
"Kill us if you want, but that boy is ours and no one will harm a hair on his head."
"This is my domain. I kill who I please, I torture who I please, and there is no one on God's earth who can stop me."
"Sarge, are we going to see each other again?"
"I never say goodbye, Norman. I never will." He snapped out of his memories as a sign passed by his window telling him that the bus was leaving town. Next stop Pittsburgh.
This story is mainly going to be about Don and Norman, but all of the Fury crew will be featured in this story and we'll see how they try and get back to normal. Let me know what you thought.