This whole thing was a complete waste of time. But James's parents were in no mood for excuses. This was the last straw for them. He had gone too far this time and there was no way they were going to let him talk his way out of it.

He stared out the back window of his fathers SUV, silently saying goodbye to Crosswood Drive. Not that he liked this neighborhood to begin with...but there was no doubt he wouldn't be coming back here for a long time. The music from his phone was enough to drown out all sound and effectively distract him from the frequent glances of his parents through the mirror.

He wasn't really named James Novak like they had changed it to be. They weren't really his parents, and maybe that contributed to why he truly didn't take to doing either of them any favors. It wasn't for attention or for amusement.

James just really didn't give a damn.

His father was a businessman, well on his way to becoming one of the most successful. His mother...a housewife. His adopted father was too named James Novak. He was pretty sure his adoption had something to do with having someone else carry on the family legacy in law enforcement.

To do that, however...he would need to start behaving. Him being chosen probably also had to do with the fact that he looked at least somewhat like his father. Unlike him, he liked to keep his black hair semi-combed and flat...whereas James Novak the First liked to overuse gel and slick his dark locks all the way back. It would have been believable, even the pale skin tone being the same...had it not been for the eyes that were a dead giveaway. The father had brown eyes...and James had dark blue eyes. Didn't help that his foster mother had green eyes.

He was a late adoption, being more than aware of his lonely situation and that these people were more than likely doing this to achieve extra on their tax return every year. It didn't help that the word 'delinquent' was being used to describe him more and more these days. So what if he wore predominantly black? So what if he may or may not have been present when the principal had a bucket of milk dumped on him Monday morning? It didn't mean he did it. Besides...milk was good for you.

Dark blue eyes finally had enough of the stern gazes he was getting through the mirror and he consented to pulling at least one headphone from his ear.

"Is there a problem?" James asked, his tone coming out slightly clipped.

His father was the one to respond. "As a matter of fact, yes there is. Your mother and I would appreciate if you took this situation a little more seriously. This is a life changing thing, James."

James just shrugged his shoulders in a careless sort of way and went about looking out the window. They were arriving. The shopping district had changed to government buildings. He had never been on this side of town before. And he had hoped he would never have to be.

Then there was that building that was...what shaped like a trapezoid? It was forest green with the largest American flag James had ever seen on the flagpole. As his father turned into the parking lot, James felt his anxiety spike up a little. He could see several formations of cadets marching with rifles wearing camouflage. He could see others in PT training, scaling walls with rope...and then digging through barbed wire trenches.

This place was going to suck.

They approached a building with a smaller flag that had no cars in front of it. His parents exited first while James lingered in the back seat to just stare at this place...the place he was going to be calling home for...well from what he figured? Indefinitely.

Well, there was no sense in delaying the inevitable. James looked over the worn black backpack of essentials next to him. He slung it over his shoulder and climbed out of the car half-heartedly, following the taller forms towards the entrance. Inside was fairly simple...if a little shabby .The walls were an awful tan color with chipping wallpaper. All these cadets and not once to spruce this place up? The carpet matched the wallpaper with an ugly old color that James didn't even like stepping on. They stepped into an office where a man with brown hair and glasses was sitting, pouring over some kind of document. When he looked up, he smiled in a friendly way, standing up to greet them.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Novak. I'm happy to meet the two of you. I'm Staff Sergeant Samuel Winchester. And this...must be James."

Sam's eyes went to the teenager who lowered into the third seat beside his parents, flashing him a defiant look when the Sergeant looked his way. He was evaluating him, James knew. From head to toe...from the black clothing to to the unruly hair and choice tattoos on his wrists showing several black lightning bolts. They weren't professionally done, but they were still permanent. He had done them on himself somehow...and it looked like he at least knew what he was doing somewhat with a pen.

"He's in good hands here. You won't have to worry about a thing. I can tell you with absolute certainty that this program has a hundred percent success rate."

Both parents looked to one another with impressed looks. James had to refrain from rolling his eyes. He had a feeling showing disrespect this early in the game was going to result in laps...or push ups. It was too late in the afternoon to start working out randomly.

His 'mother ' spoke up finally. "Sergeant...I know we're late coming in to this...but we really want the best for James. It's not easy for us, you realize. To part with him so easily. And for so long."

"I can promise you'll feel much better after the six weeks are over, Mrs. Novak."

It seemed to appease her, because she stood up the next second and her husband followed suit. James remained sitting, not wanting to look at either of them. It didn't stop her from reaching down to place her hands on his face and pull him closer for a kiss to the top of the head. He made a grunting noise as she pulled away. His father approached, probably torn between doing the same thing and settling on just gripping James's shoulder tightly before leaving with her.

And just like that...they were gone. The life he knew for whatever amount of time. He felt disgusted...by them..by the high school for even having this ridiculous program...by everyone, really. Even this annoying Staff Sergeant looking down at him.

"I have you assigned to a platoon. All activities have ceased for the day. They all do after five pm. I'll show you to your barracks. We can talk outside. Come on."

Sam was a little serious, but not what James expected out of a Staff Sergeant. He expected to be yelled at. A lot. All the time.

When James stood, he realized that this man...was essentially a giant. He must have been like seven or eight feet. Maybe he was internally exaggerating just a bit...but seriously. Did this guy live on all plant diet? Probably. He had a temptation to ask...but sliding in with the reputation of a smart ass probably wasn't the best way to go.

Sam started leading the way out of the building where the afternoon breeze felt nice...and the overall surroundings, even at this dismal place looked good. It was the artist in him that enjoyed the view of the orange sunset past the flagpole where some kid about his age was struggling to pull the strings to make the flag lower. When he saw Sam approach, he immediately snapped a salute and went back to what he was doing before.

Sam only glanced towards James a few times to make sure he was still following him.

"We have certain expectations for you while you're here. Everything we require of you...we require you to do to the very best of your ability. If there's a doubt that you didn't give it your all, then you're doing it wrong. Be respectful to your squad...be respectful to your commanding officer...and you'll do fine here. I wasn't lying to your parents when I told them that this program has a hundred percent success rate. I know you're here for a reason. Everyone is. Some by complete individual choice and some because they had to. Whatever your story is...whatever fear you have...put it to the back of your mind. Fear isn't something that's going to be tolerated for long."

James supposed the words were pretty ominous. There was a warning in them, and he felt too mentally exhausted to actually argue him. He kind of just wanted to go to sleep. Even though it was only a little past six. As he expected, when they entered the barracks with lines and lines of metal bunk beds, it was empty. James balked at the prospect of having someone on either side of him and above him at all times and prayed for a corner bed.

"You will address me as 'Sir' or Staff Sergeant at all times. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Luck wasn't on his side and Sam led him to a bed right in the middle of the barracks and opened up a chest at the end of it to take out a duffel bag that James guessed would hold all of his essentials. Wherever the rest of the platoon was...he didn't want to be spotted. And he was definitely not looking to wake up at the crack of dawn. So he shoved off his backpack, stuffed it under his bed and laid down on his side. All he could really do was hope that the worst wouldn't happen tomorrow...in the morning when he would probably be woken to trumpet.

Perhaps it was his mental exhaustion that made sleep actually easier. He woke to light filtering into the barracks from the door. Not early bird sunshine either...More like ten o'clock sunshine. How the hell? He overslept? How was that even possible? James sat up as fast as he could, giving himself a quick second to collect himself from a daze. The beds all around him...They all looked...untouched. Come to think of it...he slept throughout the night...he figured just the first night sleeping in a bed that wasn't one he was used to would have him a little more...aware of his surroundings. Wouldn't he have heard them?

Was this the wrong goddamn barrack?

Either way, James scrambled towards the bathroom, grabbing the duffel Staff Sergeant had given him. Quickly he changed into a white t-shirt, camouflage pants consisting of blue, green and brown colors and black boots. He was still tucking in his shirt into his pants when he stepped outside, still finding nothing really around him. No formations...no shouting drill instructor. Nothing. All he saw was a little tented area where two recruits were playing cards. He made for them, figuring it was his best chance.

As he grew closer, he saw what they looked like. One was a man with sun kissed skin and dark brown hair that James only saw peeking through his hat which he had on backwards. He was also wearing sunglasses. A very casual look...not one James was expecting at all to see around here. He must have been here for a while, past all of nightmare training maybe? He could have been in his mid twenties. He was wearing a black t-shirt in contrast to James's white one.

The other man was of darker complexion, wearing his hat correctly, but occasionally taking it off to rub the sweat off off his face which quickly reaccumulated. He couldn't blame him. It was like a desert out here. He, unlike the first male was not so casual. He didn't even look up when James approached, too focused on the card game that seemed to be reaching some intense level.

"You're a cheatin' shit," The first male muttered. James heard a faint southern drawl.

The other man chuckled. "Not really. Just skilled. You don't have a poker face. Too easy to read."

"Meh...Best two out of three. C'mon. Shuffle."

James started tentatively. "Scuse me..."

They ignored him. The second man responding to the order. "...Man. I got shit to do today. More shit to do than sit here and play cards with you."

"Play it, Gordon or it's your ass."

It was then that the other man, the one addressed as Gordon noticed James, looking over his shoulder at him. "...More reason why I need to head out."

The one with the sunglasses followed his gaze to James...from head to toe. His eyebrow raised high over the lens. "Can I help you with somethin'?"

"Yeah...I'm looking for the squad...or...uh platoon. Not good with the terms yet...the one that's in this barracks I just came out of," James nodded behind him to the empty building.

The man was a bit answering, reaching into his pocket and digging out a toothpick that he stuck between his teeth. "...You running late?"

"Maybe...I...didn't hear anything last night,"

Gordon scoffed. "That's cause the platoon never returned. One of their members failed a spec. They're over there at Block D...Cleaning out Platoon 47's barracks from top to bottom. They're not leaving until it's done."

He nodded off in the direction of another distant barrack house and sighed. So much for things being easy.

"Thanks for letting me know. I'll head out."

James began to move away but then the man with the sunglasses stood up. "Naw. You don't need to head off alone. I'm going in that direction. I'll come with you. "

He handed all his cards back to Gordon who shuffled and put away the deck while the other male came level to James. He wasn't freakishly tall like Staff Sergeant was. He was still tall though. As he came close, James smelled strong...expensive smelling cologne. Even in all this heat...it masked or took over any other body scents...and James found he find of enjoyed the scent.

Wait...what? He was staring too long. Looking at the man's toned chest that the black tee was hinting at underneath. He liked the sharp cut of the v-neck, where he could see a small bit of sweat slicked skin. All this had James fighting the temptation to run his hand down it. He swallowed, feeling a surge of heat that had nothing to do with the sun. This was why he was here, he had to remind himself. Cause he thought with other...parts of him...rather than his head.

"Thanks," said James.

The man nodded. "What's your name?"

"James. Novak."

"I'm Dean."

They shook hands. His grip was firm, calloused and rough. Definitely not a rookie himself. If he was part of a platoon that was cleaning out another barracks, what was he doing out here? He started to walk with him. The man was over a head taller than him. If they stood face to face again, he'd do that ridiculous tall people thing that they liked to do. What better word for it than...eh...loom.

"So you were just taking a break, huh?" James asked.

"Takin' a break. Sounded like you were takin' a nap."

"I just got here yesterday."

Dean eyed him up and down once again."...I can see that."

What did that mean? James changed the subject. "So you're part of the program too?"

"What program is that?"

"The one on that...colorful brochures — pamphlet that my step parents received. The US Marine Initiative. You're in that too?"

Dean twiddled the toothpick between his lips in response. "Something like that. Sergeant over there is a real pain in the ass. Real hostile motherfucker."

Great.

"Oh yeah?"

"He's from Texas. I heard he sleeps with three rattlesnakes."

"Jesus. That sounds...unsanitary and insane."

"He's a fuckin' crazy."

In this light, James could see that there was a huge lined scar on Dean's cheek. It looked like it came from a blade or a very expensive ring. It was an imperfection, James noted...yet not one that hindered his overall appearance.

When they finally entered, there were the people that James was looking for. Each recruit was on their hands and knees, scrubbing the floor...not with buckets of water and soap...or sponges...but with toothbrushes. Yup. Toothbrushes. As James entered, each and every single one of them jumped off the floor, gathered into formation as fast as he'd ever see it( less than five seconds) and saluted him.

Well...that was a quick jump to the top. He looked behind him for Dean and saw the man lagging a little behind James where he was pulling on a jacket over his shirt. It was then that James really noticed the insignia on his shoulder. It hadn't been on his shoulder...and it wasn't on any of the other men here. It was a symbol that had a few yellow arches over a red shape. He adjusted his hat to face front and removed his sunglasses revealing sharp green eyes.

Jesus Christ, he was the Sergeant.

"Platoon 88!" Dean's voice rang out and there was a snap behind James where he knew they had all stiffened into 'attention'. "Meet your new bunkmate! Cadet Novak!"

Dean's eyes never left James as he moved to approach. There was something amused in his eyes as he slid past him, their shoulders brushing. His hands were interlocked behind him. He kept James in his sight until he had no choice but to face forward and eye the other recruits.

"Seems to me that Private Novak got all the sheep he needed last night while the rest of you were still cleanin' up here. Move out, 88. Get your R&R 'til I say so. Private Novak here...is gonna pick up where ya'll left off."

Asshole.Why did James think he was attractive before? Something about that smug smile on his face was so...goddamn irritating. But he was handed off a blackened toothbrush and it took a lot of willpower not to just snatch it.

Dean slid the toothpick to rest on side of his mouth, still smiling at James. "Get to work, pretty boy."