FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The 3:45 bus to downtown Fayetteville lurched sideways as the driver heaved its girth onto the jam-packed interstate. Occupants of the torn, sweat stained benches clasped onto whatever they could to keep from being tossed out into the floorboards. Cars honked their horns. Dante gasped as he tried desperately to stay upright, his left paw stinging as he held too tightly the edge of his seat. He kept forgetting that he couldn't anchor himself with his right paw.

An old, dapple-furred hound's grocery bag spilled over. Apples tumbled down the aisle, and the baggy-faced old dog hissed as he stumbled after his ripe runaways, stuffing what he caught into his flannel jacket. The thin, ferret girl who'd been sitting next to Dante stuck out a foot to stop a golden delicious, and she accidentally bumped into his tender shoulder as she leaned down to grab the fruit. The black wolf hissed and clutched a paw over his mangled trapezius, close to his neck.

"Sorry," the ferret girl mumbled, completely disinterested in Dante's pain-pinched face. She simply tugged on the headphone she'd removed from her ear--in case Dante was to say something--and stuck it back in. She then closed her eyes and began to bob her head, shoving her frail arms into the pouch of her neon blue hoodie.

"Bitch," the wolf grumbled through clenched teeth.

"Hey."

Dante swiveled his head to stare into the concerned, amber eyes of his older sister Quinn. The silver-furred female leaned forward a bit and stared at her brother's paw which was still latched onto his shoulder.

"You okay? Is it hurting?"

He rolled his eyes. "My music-lovin' neighbor over here bumped into it."

Quinn's brows buckled down sharply to the bridge of her snout. "Christ. It had better not be bleeding. I'll skin the bitch..."

"Calm down," he sighed, chuckling weakly.

He let his paw fall to rest in his lap, and he peered at the upturned palm, tracing the splits in his pads, roving over every crack in the rough, black flesh. He flexed the appendage a few times then, satisfied it wasn't going anywhere, reclined his head and rested it against the cold bus window at his back. The vibrations of the behemoth machine soon vibrated through his skull, down his neck, and he couldn't take the tingling sensation that broke out over his skin. Grumbling again, he leaned forward. An old rabbit woman sat adjacent from him. Her wrinkled forehead creased all the more as she peered through a pair of thick, round spectacles, right at Dante's injured shoulder. His ears drooped and he groaned self-consciously. Someone let down a window, and a breeze stirred through the cabin of the bus. Dante stiffly yanked his overcoat tighter around himself, but he couldn't keep the limp, empty right sleeve from flapping about.

He saw the old rabbit's eyes widen and fill with rabid sympathy as her gaze flicked to the Army logo patched onto his coat...then to his missing arm. Her lips quivered into a regretful frown at the sight of him. He didn't want that. He didn't want to be judged, he didn't want condolence because of his injury. So his right arm was gone--blown off by a roadside bomb when his Humvee caravan was snaking its way through some godforsaken stretch of middle-eastern desert. So what? He was 25, in (relatively) good shape, good looking...So he'd been given an honorable discharge? So he'd trained for months and months only to be sent out and--in the first three weeks of active service--nearly killed? Big fucking deal. So he was maimed for life, disfigured, incomplete. That didn't matter.

Still, sweat broke out stinging and hot across his brow as he sat and stared at the old rabbit sitting and gazing sadly at him. Her lips pursed and her eyes swam. He just knew she was going to say something and embarrass him. He closed his eyes and begged for her to be gone when he opened them again...to be whole like he once was. He wanted his arm back. He hadn't deserved any of the shit he'd had to go through.

"Dante?" His sister's voice snapped him out of his black-fogged stupor. The bus hissed and came to a stop. Footsteps tromped close by him as furs exited and new ones came aboard. Soon they were moving again. He opened his eyes, holding back sorrowful tears as best as he could, and felt the warmth of his sibling's paw as she stroked his cheek. "We'll be home soon, okay? Then you can take your meds and pass out on the couch."

He just nodded. He could barely breathe, let alone speak, seeing as his throat had knotted up. He swallowed the bulge and felt a little comfort as he looked up to see that the old rabbit had gotten off. The ferret girl too. Nothing to worry about.

"Hi!"

Dante bounced in surprise, wincing as pain streaked like fire from his shoulder stump and down his side. A growl rumbled reflexively from his chest, and the little dog--whatever breed he was--who'd appeared next to him sank on the bus bench, his stump of a tail attempting to hide between his legs. Immediately Dante bridled his anger. The dog was just a child, a puppy--not even seven years old he bet. The burly black wolf took a deep breath, released his hot air through his nose, and smiled as best as he could at the little guy.

"It's alright, buddy," he said softly. "You just scared me."

The salt-and-pepper schnauzer sat up straighter and grinned at Dante's sudden passiveness. His floppy ears bounced as he cocked his head to the side, and every breath or word he spoke ruffled his moustache: a schnauzer trait that Dante found hilarious.

The pup huffed and glared at Dante. "I scared you? Nu-uh--you scared me, mister." He crossed his tiny arms. "And I just said, 'hi.'"

Dante rolled his eyes as he caught the faint laugh of his sister next to him. No doubt she was enjoying her brother's distress. He'd never been good with kids.

"I'm sorry, little man," he said. He leaned over, very careful not to tug the sore flesh of his wound, and whispered to the pup. "Can you forgive me?"

Not that he cared if the pup did forgive him or not; he just didn't want the parent--who should have been paying closer attention to their kid--to get the wrong impression of him: A wounded soldier. Kids like this were supposed to look up to authority figures, gain a little hope for the future, hold promise that there were furs that could be counted on.

"No," the schnauzer huffed. "I won't."

A flash of cold shock ran through Dante's stomach at the pup's harsh words. He sat straighter, his spine feeling uncomfortably rigid, and glanced to Quinn next to him. She seemed just as taken aback, her ears drooping and tail limp, and she just shrugged when Dante's eyes begged her for a solution to the tiny, mustachioed pup-problem. He ended up turning back as he felt a gentle tug on the empty sleeve of his coat, wincing as the pup jerked it a little harder.

"Careful," he said sternly. "I'm hurt, buddy." He put his large paw over the pup's and slipped it from the sleeve. "That hurts."

"Sorry," the schnauzer whimpered, his brown eyes expanding like when Dante had growled at him before. "What happened?" he asked, pointing to the empty coat arm. "Where is it?"

Dante watched the pup's face, curious at the little guy's own curiosity. "My arm?"

The pup nodded and scooted closer, wiping his fuzzy snout with the back of his forearm. "Did it get cut off, too? Did you find it? Dickey never found his." He rapped his little knuckles across a steel portion of the bus bench. "It's metal now. Hurts too, he says--like yours."

"Dickey?" Quinn asked, piping in, leaning forward to peer at the pup.

"My big brother," the pup said brightly. He then twirled about on his bottom, cupped his tiny paws around his snout, and hollered as loud as he could down the aisle of the bus. "DIIICCCKKEEEEY!"

Both Dante and Quinn froze. Every passenger on the bus jerked their heads around to see what had happened, to see why a little boy was screaming. Their eyes shot first to the pup, and then to Dante...who was the only fur near the schnauzer. From their stares, he knew they didn't have the best of thoughts about him. He winced as the pup went to yell again, but luckily...

"Willie! What the hell is the matter with you!?"

An older schnauzer--chocolate fur, cropped ears, short black hair and blue eyes, athletically built and lean--came stumbling down the aisle of the bus. His steps were so heavy that Dante felt the floorboard quiver more than it already was, and--obviously--he wasn't happy.

"Oooooooh," Willie wailed. "You said a no-no-word! If momma were here..."

"Well," the elder schnauzer huffed. "Momma's not here. And I've told you not to wander off like that a million times!" He saw how uncomfortably still Dante and Quinn were, the both of them leaning away from him a bit, and he smiled in earnest, his ears and eyebrows drooping. "I'm so sorry," he said. "He's got a thing for talking to furs he takes a fancy to..." Willie sank into himself as his brother aimed a fiery glare at him. "Even though he knows better than to bother folks."

"But," Willie gasped.

"No buts, William!"

"Stop it, Dickson!" Willie said, immediately pulling his knees to his chest and pouting into them.

Dickson sighed.

Dante didn't want to come into the middle of a family squabble, but apparently he was already at the center of it anyhow. "Hey," he said to Dickson. "He's fine. He wasn't bothering anybody."

"Well," Dickson sighed, his ears perking. "Still, I apologize."

The bus heaved sharply as it was directed onto an exit, and Dickson--who was still standing--wavered unsteadily on his left foot as he went to balance himself. He teetered, gasping, but Willie grabbed his paw and kept him from falling. To Dante, it appeared as though his left leg was injured--stiff maybe--and Dickson couldn't put weight on it, but...

"Whoa," the elder schnauzer said, his ears blushing red in embarrassment. "Damn leg."

"Oooooooooooh," Willie hooted again.

"You okay?" Quinn asked Dickson, her legs stuck out into the aisle as if she'd thought of catching him herself.

"Yeah," he said.

"Dickey," Willie said excitedly. He pointed to Dante's limp coat arm. "He's like you...kind of."

"Stop being a pest!" Dickson glanced at Dante, his eyes lingering on the wolf's missing limb, and the schnauzer seemed to blanch. Dante frowned, his ears falling back. His hazel eyes dropped to the floorboards. Quinn patted him on the leg. Willie shuffled sideways and made room for Dickson who plopped himself down. He grunted and rubbed his own leg--the left one. The stiff one. "When did it happen?" he asked Dante.

Sighing, Dante closed his eyes and rubbed them with gentle fingers. "Almost a month ago."

"Whoa," Dickson said in surprise. "Then you're still in shell-shock; haven't gotten the feel--or the lack of feeling--to having it gone yet."

Nope. Dante hadn't. Like earlier, he kept thinking that when he'd signal for his right arm to do something then it would...then he'd looked down and remember. He'd remember everything in a sickening, gut-wrenching instant.

He recalled the Humvee rumbling and bouncing along the road to Kandahar, his heavy gear weighing him down and making it hard to breathe, the sand blowing in through the cracked window making it even harder. There was the smell of sweat and cigarette smoke, Johnson in the front seat turned around and smiling, the puma pestering Dante to take a drag on the Marlboro. "A god-like relief in a godless country" he'd called it. Dante didn't take it. He remembered Sergeant Steele rolling his great, grey head and smacking Johnson, telling him to turn the fuck around and aim his rifle out of the window before he shot someone. Dante had laughed. Steele had been the only relief Dante had known since he'd been assigned to the grey wolf's fire team. He was a great man, not much older than Dante himself. The black wolf had liked him. He'd liked him a lot. He remembered Scuttle in the back cursing as the Humvee hit a rock and he bounced around. Poor Scuttle. The black rat, he'd had it rough from the start. Blink had been sitting in the back with him. The cheetah was the only member of the team who was always smiling. He'd died smiling, Dante recalled grimly. There was the Humvee's shuddering, then his hearing shattering, a flash of white hot light, white hot pain across every inch of him. Then black. Nothing but black.

"Hey, you alright?"

Dante opened his eyes. He'd been pinching them between his fingers as he lapsed into the loop of that terrible memory. They stung, and he blinked a few times before looking at Dickson. The schnauzer's paw was half extended as though he were about to give Dante a reassuring pat on the leg.

The black wolf shook the chill from his skin and smiled weakly. "I'm...I'm good."

"Mmhmm," Dickson mumbled. "I said the same thing."

Willie peeped over his brother's back to weigh in. "He did. A lot. Grand-mama hated when he said it."

Dickson peered back at Dante. "Only because she knew I was lying."

The black wolf swallowed. He knew he was lying too. He wasn't good; he was anything but. But he knew he was strong. He could get through this...eventually. He'd gotten through so much throughout his life, all on his own: The death of his best friend in middle school, his parent's divorce, living with his abusive father until his mother rescued him, his father's death, his loneliness, his discovery that girls didn't fill the hole in his heart--that men did--coming out to his mom and Quinn, the army training, his urge to be all that he could be...while hiding who he was...and now this.

Dante let his head fall, and he braced it with his only hand. His chest tightened, his throat clenched, his blood ran cold. But he wouldn't cry. "Fuck," he whimpered.

Dickson clapped a paw over Willie's mouth. He was sure his brother heard the no-no word. Quinn wrapped her arm around her brother.

Dickson bit his lip as he watched the burly wolf fight to keep his emotions inside. He hated to see another fur go through this--go through the same instability he'd had to overcome. He was sure Dante was a great guy--and he was strikingly good looking--but his depression was evident in his drained expressions, the glassiness to his eyes and the dull sheen of his fur. He was struggling. Dante wasn't doing well.

"Hey," Dickson said gently. He scooted closer to the black wolf who glanced sideways at him and aimed his ears toward the schnauzer's voice. "Don't drag yourself down, big guy. You remind me of myself back when I was still coping--still falling."

"What do you mean?" Dante asked, bristling. "I doubt you've had to deal with the same amount of crap I've had to go through."

"Dante, don't..." Quinn started, but Dickson cut her off with a shake of his head.

He smiled softly at the black wolf who sat up and gazed blankly at the empty seats across from them. "You'd be surprised. I've, uh, had a fair amount of crap to wade through in my life too." The schnauzer knocked on the upper portion of his left leg, a resounding metal tap following instead of the soft thud of flesh. He then yanked up the leg of his black khakis, and Dante gasped as the glint of polished steel met his eyes instead of fur and ankle bone and muscle.

"I told you," Willie said at Dante's astonishment. "Dickey's like you."

"I'm so sorry," the black wolf said hastily, his eyes meeting Dickson's.

The elder schnauzer grinned, his moustache fluttering. "Don't apologize. No need to."

"How did it happen?" Dante asked, suddenly intrigued by Dickson. He'd gone through what Dante was going through now. Maybe--just maybe--there was hope after all. The chocolate schnauzer seemed perfectly put together, so maybe the black wolf could pull through as well and be the same.

Dickson grinned. "I'll tell you what: I'll tell you my story if you tell me yours," he said. "Where do you live?"

"Why?" Dante asked.

"Humor me."

"Uh..." The black wolf peered at Quinn who simply smiled and nodded. "464 Adam Street..."

"Really?" Dickson asked. "Wow, we live over on School Street."

Dante's ears perked. "Just across the creek?" Dickson nodded, and the black wolf smiled. "Why haven't we met before?"

The schnauzer shrugged. "Apparently you've been...uh..._away..._for a while. We moved there last year."

"Oh yeah," Dante mumbled, blushing. "I was at Fort Bragg then." He gazed thoughtfully at Dickson, his tail wagging. Quinn caught the happy reaction and smiled at her brother who was too busy getting lost in the schnauzer's baby-blues. "Still..."

"Small world, huh?" Dickson said, chuckling.

"No kidding."

"Anyway," Dickson said shaking his head. "Now since we know we don't live that far from one another..." He smiled sweetly. "Why don't you come over, or we can go out, and--I dunno--talk...or something. Have some fun." He shrugged. "I just know that when..." he patted his prosthetic leg. "...this happened I didn't have anyone to cheer me up."

"Hey!" Willie smacked his older brother's shoulder and stuck out his bottom lip. "What about me!?"

"You were with grand-mama, dodo. Remember? She wouldn't let you near me."

"Oh yeah," the little guy mused, his short attention being grabbed by a flashy car that growled as it passed the bus. Quinn chuckled. Dante kept watching Dickson, his fur and flesh flushing warm.

The elder schnauzer gazed at the black wolf. "So? What do you say? Let a cripple treat a new friend to some well-deserved fun?"

"Why...why would you do that? We just met?" Dante said.

Dickson shrugged. "So what? You too good to go out and forget your pain and worries for a while? Get things off of your chest?"

"N..no, of course not..."

"Good. Besides," the schnauzer said, smirking. "You don't seem like the kind of guy who should be lost wallowing in self-pity. You're too good for that; too good looking, too."

Dante blushed and his shoulder tingled.

Quinn giggled. "I knew it," she said.

"Aw, come on," Dickson sighed, leaning over to peer at the female wolf. "It's not that obvious. I'm pretty masculine--straight-acting."

"But," Dante mumbled. "What if I'm not..."

"Oh, shut up, Dante," Quinn pestered. "I'm not going to let you pass this up. Don't be shy. Good lord."

Dante rolled his eyes, but he couldn't hide the fact that he was smiling.

"So," Dickson said. "I take it that you are? I mean, not that it matters. No pressure or anything. I just want to be a helpful friend." A smile tweaked up in the corner of his mouth as Dante's eyes darted about bashfully. "I mean, I know where you're at right now, and I...I know what can happen if you get lost in all of your misgivings." The schnauzer shook his head resolutely, his sharp ears erect. "It's not something anyone should have to endure. I just want to help...if you'll let me, that is."

"We're almost home," Willie announced, his floppy ears bobbing as he watched houses pass by along the street.

Dante's ears fluttered as thoughts rushed about in his head.

Should he be friends with Dickson? Was this some kind of trick? Why would a complete stranger feel the need to be so supportive? He didn't know Dante. No, in a way he did. He'd lost his leg...somehow. And, from the way he talked, it sounded as if he'd lost a lot more. Maybe...maybe kindness ran as deep as misfortune. Maybe there was hope for Dante after all. Besides, he needed a friend. All of the ones he'd had? Dead. He only had his sister and mother and stepfather now, and he knew he didn't want to burden them for long. Maybe Dickson could help him get back on his feet. The schnauzer had had a hard enough time doing that himself--emotionally, mentally, and physically with a missing leg--so, who better to be friends with? And he was gay, too. Maybe...maybe something more would be born from this friendship. Dante knew...he knew he didn't want to be lonely forever.

The bus puffed a hiss and came to a stop. Willie squealed and bounced on the bench. Quinn chuckled and rose. "Willie, you come with me. Let's let our brothers have some privacy, okay?" She took the excited pup's hand. "We'll be outside."

Dante and Dickson watched them go.

"Well?" the schnauzer asked. "I know this was all kind of sudden, but..."

"Yeah," Dante said warmly. "I mean, yeah, let's do it...err...I mean...not in that way, but..." He grew silent and burned in his own embarrassment.

Dickson barked a hearty laugh. "You really need to lighten up, soldier-boy. But, honestly..." He laid a gentle paw atop Dante's shoulder. The wounded one. And it didn't hurt. "Do you really feel alright with this? I am a complete stranger after all."

"Not really," Dante mused. "You were like me, right? In a way, you know me pretty well already. Everything you said about me was true." He smiled at Dickson. "I could use a friend."

"What are you talking about?" the schnauzer asked in mock surprise. "We're already friends."

Dante chuckled. "I'm glad."

Dickson caught the impatient stare of the bus driver from his reflection in the mirror he used to watch passengers. "Come on, big guy, or we're going to be marooned on this monstrosity."

"Oh God, run then," Dante snuffed.

And, surprisingly, Dickson did run. Dante hadn't expected him to be so spry with a metal leg, but he took off and bounded off the bus. The driver, a portly boar, watched Dante wobble down the aisle. He'd caught the army logo on his jacket. The sight of the black wolf made him wince. As built as his upper body was, the loss of his arm threw him off balance, and he still hadn't gotten used to the sensation of swinging his left limb and not having his right follow in tandem. It caused him to totter precariously to the left. And as Dante carefully descended the steps, the driver cleared his throat. Dante stopped and turned back.

"Son, I..."

As fate would have it, the boar was used to transporting soldiers back and forth to Fort Bragg--it was just his assigned route. Still, he had never gotten used to seeing the aftermath of war. Young, hopeful furs came aboard when they were headed to basic training. He always smiled at their exuberance; he couldn't help himself. But, no matter how much he grinned, there was always a chill that ran down his spine when he'd look into his mirror and watch the wannabe soldiers, because--in the back of his mind--he knew some of them wouldn't make it back...in one piece or at all. He was delivering them to their futures, their dreams, but--despairingly--he was also delivering them to pain, suffering, and death. When the ones that did make it back were picked up, they were always changed. War had ripped them apart and put them back together in all the wrong ways. He could hardly stand it. Seeing Dante, seeing his ravaged body, it made his heart break.

"Sir?" Dante asked after the boar grew silent, his hand clutched onto the stair railing.

The boar shook his head and gazed teary eyed at the black wolf. "Thank you, son, for all that you've done and endured." He turned his head to wipe his eyes, and then he looked back. "I know we can never repay you for what you lost out there, but..." He tried to smile, but it quivered and broke into a sad frown. "Don't lose hope?"

Dante felt his heart swell. "T...thank you..."

"Frederick," the driver said.

"Thank you, Frederick," Dante said, his voice on the verge of breaking. "That...that means a lot. And I...I'll try not to."

He stepped off the bus, and then Frederick nodded, wiped his eyes again, and closed the hinged doors before driving off.

"Hey," Dickson yelled from down further down the sidewalk. "We're waiting for you! And we've got plans to make before you chicken out!"

"Bawk, bawk, bawk!" Willie clucked, flapping his arms about and dancing around Quinn. The silver wolf just laughed and shook her head.

"Come on, brother," she said.

Dante smiled and tottered to them. Dickson, his new friend, patted his back warmly while Willie grabbed his only hand. Quinn pecked him on the cheek and ruffled his hair.

He hadn't had this warm of a reception when he'd first been delivered home bloody and broken. It was nice.

His shoulder flared in pain, but it was just a wound.

And wounds heal.