Jane awoke to the smell of coffee brewing.
Sitting up groggily, he groaned as he rubbed his forehead, his vision clearing to reveal that he was in a bed in a tiny room, with walls and ceilings of wood planks. A small dresser was beside the bed, and the window was on the other side. Pulling off the sheet on top of him to the side, he realised he was naked, and his eyes widened.
"My uniform," he gasped, stumbling out of bed, toppling off the side and slamming against the ground. The shock jarred him into consciousness, his vision sharpening vividly, colours blending into clarity as he pulled himself off the ground to come face-to-face with a chair right beside his bed, where some spare clothes were sitting, neatly folded. His dog tags and badges were resting on top of it as he stared at it, blinking confusedly.
The door at the end of the room (Jane wondered through the clearing haze of his mind how he didn't notice that, of all things) opened and a man dressed in plain pyjamas and a shirt stepped in, holding a steaming mug of coffee in one hand, a walking cane in the other. The soldier eyed the man—he was stout, his hair short and thin like his own, and he walked with a limp on his bad leg. He looked like a veteran—the look in his eyes was tired, lonely—like he had seen many things in the world.
This man would understand him, then, if that was the case.
"Heard you wake up," he chuckled, stepping in, and Jane realised the man had a Southern drawl. An American! This was going to bode well for him. "Got a nasty one, Slim?" he asked, coming to a stop in front of him, holding out the mug for him to take.
"Affirmative." He gruffly replied, taking the mug from the man. "You're American?"
He laughed—how strange, Jane thought, but he said nothing to his saviour. "Ah, you're definitely a soldier." He sighed, but he nodded. "But yeah, I'm American. Come from Bee Cave, Texas. The name's Dell. Dell Conagher. You are?"
"Sergeant Jane Doe." He replied simply. He refused to give anything else away.
"Ah, I see." Dell nodded, still smiling kindly. "Well, let's talk about you a little more downstairs. I made some grub, so you'd better eat up." He gestured to the clothes pile. "I fixed up some clothes for you—your uniform's all wet, so it's out to dry. I hope they'll be alright, I'm a little smaller than you are." He laughed kindly, "The bathroom's two rooms down from here, on the right. I'd appreciate it if you'd take a bath first—you were covered in mud last night!" he chuckled, before turning to leave.
"Civilian," Jane spoke up, and Dell laughed.
"Just Dell would do, Sergeant." He replied, smiling. "The war's over."
Jane said nothing about that.
"Where am I?" he asked.
"You're in Teufort, son. Too far out for the army to attack." He smiled apologetically. "Sleepy little town, you'll be bored here."
Jane nodded. "Affirmative—" he stopped himself, and continued: "I'd imagine."
Dell smiled at him kindly, and nodded. "One step at a time."
One step at a time, Jane repeated in his mind, as Dell left the room. The soldier pulled himself up off the ground and eyed the clothes. It wouldn't hurt to take a bath, then, he reasoned—the problem was his current state of wear—or lack thereof. Was he really going to walk out into the corridor naked as the day he was born?
Well, he heard no ladies outside, and Dell seemed like a man who lived alone. Might as well.
Gathering up the clothes and his badges in his arms, he suddenly realised that the duffel bag that he had taken with him was nowhere to be found; his things were in there—his folding shovel, his helmet, that pistol and rounds of ammunition…
He looked around the room, and found nothing. Jane frowned. He must have dropped it on the way there. The two wallets he stole from the officers were on the bedside table, however, and when Jane rifled through them, they weren't empty, and they looked like they hadn't even touched—they were still slightly soggy, but Dell had flattened them out on the desk to dry as best as they could.
The man was considerate, Jane had to admit. He wondered how considerate he would be when he heard his entire story.
Worrying would have to wait, though. For now, he had to get moving. He put the badges and his dog tags down next to the wallets before heading outside. He could hear Dell downstairs in the kitchen, the smell of toast filling the air, his gut turning in hunger at the delicious, warm smell that he hadn't felt in ages. It reminded him of home—where his family would sit together for breakfast, jam and toast on Sundays, coffee hot and strong, and aromatic, the sun golden outside in the fields, family members laughing and sharing stories, before bombs falling, and laughter turned to screams—
Jane stopped, and realised his hands had begun to shake, his vision blurry with water in his eyes.
He'd been triggered, but that was just weakness sneaking up on him when he was at his most vulnerable. That would not do—he was a soldier, a soldier for the United States of America, goddamn it, he would not tolerate crazy flashbacks that reminded him all the more of what he had lost.
Shaking his head to clear it, he resolutely walked on and found the bathroom. He half-threw the wooden door open, and found the small bathroom—tiny, with simple, tiled walls. There was a bathtub, white with dried-water deposits on its metal legs. It looked rather old, but well-maintained. It seemed Dell was a handyman—a mechanic, perhaps, or someone who worked with their hands.
He set the clothes down on top of the counter next to the sink, and he turned the knob for the water—he didn't mind if it was cold or not, just water would have done, but as he climbed into the tub and into the water, his eyes widened to feel warm water—not scalding, but just right and he instantly melted into the warmth he hadn't felt in a long time.
In a very long time, he thought, as he felt his entirety loosen up, knots untangling just at the sensation of warmth washing over him sweetly, like a lover's caress smoothing its way over his tired muscles.
A content sigh escaped Jane's lips. This was new—yet so old, like those warm nights before the war, when his bed was still soft, and the threat of war still so far away, where the ground shook with explosions, gunshots ringing in the air, people screaming, yelling in pain, blood everywhere, so, so, red, red, like the stains on his guns, on his grenades, on his uniform, his shovel—
The water's peaceful lapping intensified and Jane's eyes widened to find his hands trembling wildly again, the water splashing around them violently as his hands' muscles spasms disturbed the peace. Gritting his teeth, he wrenched himself to attention, gripping his hands together and pressing it against himself to get them to stop shaking. This was getting ridiculous—he fought a glorious war—he fought for America, damn it, why was he getting so shaky over it?
Grumbling, he shook his head resolutely, and lifted himself out of the water. It was probably best if he didn't stay in there too long. Hurriedly he washed himself, pulled a towel off a nearby rack and dried himself off. He glanced at the clothes Dell gave to him, and unfurled them to find a simple white shirt, and a pair of pants. He pulled them on (and smirking slightly to find they were shorter than he was, and had a rather tight fit around his waist) and headed back outside to see Dell slowly coming up the stairs.
"Oh, there y'are, Slim," he smiled, "You were takin' a while, I was going to check up on you."
"I am fine," he replied, shaking his head, as the limp man began to slowly head down the stairs. It was lucky he had emerged from the bathroom with Dell only five steps up, Jane thought, as he slowly walked down the stairs in time with Dell, the man offering him an apologetic smile, before following him to the kitchen, where two sets of breakfast was on the table.
"Take a seat, Sergeant," Dell smiled, gesturing at a seat, "I'll go fix you some coffee."
"Thank you." He replied stiffly, sitting down as he watched Dell pick up the coffee pot on the kitchen counter, before hobbling over to his side to pour in the dark liquid into the mug next to his plate of eggs, toast, and bacon.
"Hope you like it a little strong, Slim." He chuckled, "I'm too used to change my brew."
Jane took a sip of the coffee, and a small grin crossed his face.
"It's just how I have it back at home, too." he replied, and a warm smile crossed Dell's face.
"Well, ain't that a relief." He chuckled, taking a seat across the man. "Go, on, get. Eat up; we'll talk while we eat."
Jane nodded, and began to tuck in.
"So, where'd you come from? You're a soldier in the war?"
"Affirmative," Jane replied, surprised to feel how hungry he was, at how fast he finished his bread. "U.S. Army," he added, nodding thankfully as Dell added another pair of toast to his plate. "1941 to '45."
"All America's years, huh," Dell sighed, smiling sadly. "You must be very lucky to have survived all that time."
Jane shrugged offhandedly, refilling his mug of coffee. "You served too?" he asked, gesturing at Dell's cane, which was leaning on the armrest next to his chair, and the man chuckled sadly, shaking his head.
"Oh, no," Dell replied, "It's because of this danged thing I didn't enlist, I'm sorry to disappoint you," He replied, "There're some people here in Teufort that enlisted, though." A sad expression replaced his smile, and he sighed. "Only a few made it back."
"I'd imagine," the retired soldier answered, "I've known many a good man down in the war. KIA, most of them." His expression was set, stone-cold, but under the table, Jane's hands balled into shaking fists. "… I was there."
A solemn silence spread over the two of them, until Dell clearing his throat broke it.
"Well, Slim, now I gotta ask, how'd you end up here in Teufort? Surely a soldier like you has a family to go home to."
"I don't." he simply replied, and at once, Dell understood.
Jane, after all, had the same look he had—the look of a man that lost it all—his family, the ones he had loved.
"… I see." He nodded solemnly, and looked at Jane kindly. He couldn't say he was sorry; no, it was far too away, all over and done with to be sorry about anything, and anything that could be done had already been done.
Silence overtook them again, but this time, it was Jane who spoke up first.
"Also, I'm on the run." He said, and at that, Dell's eyes widened, the man's jaw falling lax in surprise, as he stared at Jane. "From the police. I've been accused of murdering a higher officer." he scowled.
Dell backed away from him slightly.
"Granted, the guy was a maggot asshole," Jane scowled, "And I'm glad he's kicked the bucket, but—"
The cocking of a shotgun shut him up, and he found himself staring down the barrel of the gun, a look of surprise crossed his face, and his eyes trailed up the gun to look up at Dell, who had a frown on his face.