"Go, go, go, pick it up!" Castiel paced back and forth in front of his recruits in the chill morning air, occasionally stopping to rest his foot (and, once or twice, his entire body weight) on their backs as they performed quick fire push-ups against the damp asphalt.

"What do you wanna be, kiddies?" He taunted.

The voices of the young men rang out, a familiar chorus in the half-darkness.

"Warriors."

Castiel came to a stop in front of the last recruit in the line.

"And what are you?"

The young soldier looked up at him, his body raising and lowering on steady arms as he answered in unison with his brothers in arms.

"Vessels."

Castiel turned and walked back down the line, looking out at the growing light on the horizon.

He checked his watch, mentally calculating how long he had before his recruits were expected in weapons training.

"Ok, wrap it up." He tucked his watch back into his pocket. "There's something I need to talk to you about before you head to drill."

The young men heaved themselves up onto their feet, falling into line before their superior.

"Next week," Castiel began, "We will be heading out on a field op."

He watched the faces of the young recruits light up as the implications of the news sank in. He remembered all too well the relief and anticipation that accompanied the prospect of getting off base and out into the real world. It was easy to forget sometimes there was an entire universe out there when you were stuck in the same environment twenty-four-seven.

"It will be a thirty day stint in an undisclosed location. You will be airlifted in with your packs, and left to your own devices. I will be accompanying you to make sure," he glanced between the two cadets he was most hopeful were paying attention, "that you all return in one piece."

The low echo of approval sounded from the recruits.

"You will be given a list of essentials at the end of this week. Aside from that, the rest of what you choose to bring will be based on your own understanding of your training."
He eyed each of the young men standing before him in turn, before stepping back and glancing once again at his watch.

"And I do believe," Castiel sighed "You are late for weapons drill. Haul ass, ladies."

It was as formal a dismissal as they ever got from him. He watched as they jogged across the asphalt, murmuring amongst themselves about their upcoming excursion into the field. Those thirty days were going to be make or break for the young soldiers. Castiel did not doubt their abilities in the slightest. He had, to this point, trained them well. To the best of his abilities. And he was certain that, had his recruits been left under the authority of anyone else, they would not have come half as far as they had in their training. It was one of the few things that made Castiel appreciate his reputation – he knew his recruits had heard stories about him, tales of the 'Avenging Angel', that had them more or less simultaneously terrified and in awe of him. The amount of truth that lay in what they had heard was debatable, but, as long as they kept assenting to him, Castiel was content for them to believe what they wanted.

He slowly made his way back to his office, breathing in the new day. He thought on the coming week, the things that would need to be squared off at base before he took his boys out into the field. Paperwork, mostly. His least favourite pastime. But he could not deny that there was a part of him that was eager for the challenge that awaited him out in the field, when it was just him and his soldiers, his weapons-in-the-making. The impending thirty days would teach those kids more about the reality of the job, of life itself, than the last year they had spent at base. It would not be easy for them, but if they could come through it as a unit, they would be one step closer to actualising what had been deemed, in low murmurs amongst the higher-ups, "Project Hades." Castiel's own, hand-reared death squad. Each and every one of his soldiers were, on their own, a walking death sentence. But all together...they were Fear itself.

The past eleven months had revealed in the young men the unspoken rankings within their own internal hierarchy that simmered just below the surface. Leaders were beginning to rise in the shadows of the group. It was becoming more and more apparent, as the power struggles played out in the form of petty brawls and disagreements. It was the driving factor in Castiel's decision to accompany the recruits on their impending field mission. Sooner or later, someone was going to snap. And he was willing to bet all his pennies on who it would be.

Dean Winchester reminded him more of himself than any other recruit, any other soldier, he had ever crossed paths with. He was coarse, and unrefined, and twice as gifted as any other individual he served beside. And he was angry. There was a deep seated hate within him that Castiel could see every time the kid picked up a gun, or threw a punch, or stood defiantly before him in the wake of some misdemeanour or other. It was almost unsettling, looking into the face of the young man, ten years his junior, and seeing himself. Whether or not that had anything to do with the fact that he was still in the program after so many red cards, Castiel couldn't say. But he knew, with every ounce of the soldier within him, that he would not let Dean Winchester be his own demise. Somehow, he would teach him to curb it, to draw on the ill-disguised hurt within him and turn it into strength and resolve. He would chip away at the exterior until all but his foundations were reduced to rubble, and in doing so, unmask the true leader of Project Hades.