Hello again readers, sorry for the poor update schedule! Sometimes I have a case of writer's block.
So with that said, I'm going to speed things up a bit here.
Chapter 7, "This just isn't his Day
On Coming Home
Enjoy!
Oh and I apologize in advance. I don't know much about U.S. military rankings and their job description. I've did a bit of research but nothing solid comes up.
So sorry if I'm wrong on the rankings or/and their official job description. Please if you know more about U.S. military ranking, share with me to correct myself.
~Previously on Come Home~
You stay out of my business, including my son!" He is right on her face now, Emma can see his nose flare and his eyes narrow in disgust. He raise his hand as if to hit her but lowered it an instant later, "Go back to your work, schiavo."
He hiss under his breath.
"And stay away from Stefan."
Emma gulps, her heart beating rapidly it hurts against her chest. She mumbles a "yes, master' then scurries out the door and didn't stop until she was safe in the kitchen, far away from the studio. She breathes slowly trying to calm her beating heart.
"No matter what you said, master." She mumbles under her breath, seeing Stefan once again sitting on the front lawn looking out into the woods.
"No matter what you do to me, I will always be here for Stefan. I swear it on God...and on young Damon's life."
"Character is what you are. Reputation is what people think you are."
~Henry H. Saunderson
A sudden jolt knocks Damon out of his restless slumber. He blinks his eyes twice, unsure to where he is. His blue irises fall to the window on his left: fast and blurry is what all he can see.
"Finally you're up. We're almost there."
Tearing his sensitive eyes from the ray of sun that peeks through the dark clouds, he asks groggily, "W-what?"
Jamie sighs, "I said we're almost there...to the camp!"
"...Oh," Damon whispers turning again to the moving landscape.
Hours must have pass since Damon read the "Mystic Falls" sign, leaving the most important person behind-alone and unprotected.
Has Stefan read the letter yet?
How did he react? Frustrated? Eh, perhaps.
Angry? Damon snort, hoping that wasn't the case.
Sad? Desperate? Heart-broken? Certainly yes.
All of the above?
Absolutely positively yes.
Damon lets out a small shallow breath, subconsciously running a hand across his thigh and cup his knee. Its been only hours but already the young Salvatore can't help but miss his home-his little brother.
"Relax, Salvatore," grumbles Jamie with a sly smile. Damon mimics it, "You know I never can, Jamie. I think I might have that disorder. What's it called? Oh, A.D.D."
Dennis Jamie Forbes chuckles, flickering his cap higher across his brows, letting those green sparkling eyes rest on his friend.
"Oh, I know you have that attention or impulsive or whatever-the-thing-is disorder. Noooo doubt 'bout it either."
A pregnant pause dances across the compartment.
"What do you think it's like?" Jamie whispers slowly. Damon cocks his head, "Camp I mean."
He inhales deeply letting all his current frustrations flush out of him before answering his friend, "Who knows, Forbes. But it looks like we're about to fine out."
The train's speed slowly starts descending, announcing their arrival soon. It's slowly speeds into the platform, though the window Damon spies five men in military uniform, hands still on their sides with each having an expressionless face, masking their real intentions.
The men must be good at poker, thought Damon casually.
The train comes to a creaking halt, "Alright ladies! Move! Move! Move! I want action! We ain't got all day, ya know, I wanna see you're assess hustling out that door! Let's move, girls!" A man in perfect, complete uniform gear barks, pounding at every compartment. "Let's hustle ladies!"
The two teens sneak a look before complying, scurrying to grab their belongings like everyone else.
"I said MOVE!" The man shouts. Damon unintentionally flinches, the sergeant, for a second, sounded just like his father.
The young Salvatore quickly gathers this things before him and Jamie push their way out of the train.
About fifty or so young men stand on the platform awaiting orders from the six intimidating figures up front. A rather large man steps in front of the already fearful fresh meat.
"Now that all you are present we can start business! I am Sergeant Major Lightwood, they are your instructors. Each of you will listen and absolute obey you're commanders. Is that understood?"
Silence fills the area until a single-
"Yes, sir!"-
Booms the platform.
Lightwood narrows his eyes, "Who ever spoke up, step in front where I can see you!"
Nervous eyes try to discreetly scan the crowd of boys for the one who is daring (or perhaps stupid) enough to speak.
Damon swallows, stepping his dirty riding boots away from the line of boys. He wasn't sure why he spoke up, his mind wasn't quick enough to tell his mouth to shut up...and now he manages to screw up-on the first day.
This just isn't his day.
Sergeant Lightwood walks deliberately slow-obviously trying to intimate Damon. He snorts quietly, his Father has done it a million of times before it never work.
However Sergeant Lightwood is a least three times taller and five times muscular than his father, and sure as hell he can beat him up better-if not worst.
This just isn't his day.
Sergeant Lightwood stops in front of the young man, too close for Damon's personal liking yet his mouth finally decided to shut up. Lightwood cocks his head, scanning him from head to toe.
Finally satisfied with his scan his black irises bore into Damon's crystal blue ones. "What's your name, Cadet?"
His tongue suddenly numbs in his mouth, "Dmnns, sir."
"What? Speak up! You have quite a voice early ago, so use it!" he shouts, crouching lower. Damon sighs, eyes narrowing themselves. Face it, he never liked being yelled at. "Damon Salvatore, sir!"
"As in "savior",eh? How old are you?"
"Seventeen, sir."
"From Mystic Falls, no?"
"Yes, sir. From Mystic Falls."
Lightwood stands up straighter, no longer crouching at the boy. "Tell me Cadet Salvatore do any in your family serve in the military before?"
Damon's lips tighten, "No sir, none."
"Any yet you responded instantly. Why is that Cadet Salvatore?"
Damon eyes glare down for a second before again staring at the black orbs. "It seem like common sense, sir. You asked us if we understood your orders, I was just answering back like it should be answer, or did I do it wrong, sir?"
Lightwood continue to stare at him, for so long that Damon almost begins to feel uneasy-almost.
"No, Cadet. Just the opposite. You, young man have either guts or no brain to respond back without knowing the proper way. Yet you manage to impress me, Cadet Salvatore. In all my years serving in the military I've have never came across a Cadet so bold as yourself. And on the first day."
He nods and walks back to the center but not before saying, "Men like you are needed in the military, Salvatore. Keep it up."
"Yes sir!" Damon says stepping back in line.
The Sergeant once again gives everyone his focus, "Now ladies! I didn't hear an answer from you minus the one man in this group. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir!"
"I said did you UNDERSTAND!"
"YES, SIR!"
~0~0~0~0~
Damon was glad that many torturous days at football practice paid off.
Apparently the Sergeants believe in pain on the first day, walking 15 or so miles back to camp, carrying everything they have. He licks his dry lips, sneaking a glaze at Jamie.
Jamie never did like football but he did like running.
So far, he was champion of the school's annual track competition verses our rival school: Cameron Academy. Fortunate for both of them, 15 miles seems like a walk or run in the park. He couldn't say the same for everybody though.
Damon looks down on his left side, watching a kid struggling to catch up the pace. Damon knows this kid, Dexter Fontana, the nerd of the whole school. The kid knows everything about, well everything.
There isn't a single think Dexter doesn't know...well many about the ladies but you can't blame him either. Damon frowns, wondering how the hell a kid like that ended up here.
"We're almost there ladies, half a mile more."
Damon grunts, almost tripping over a rock. Jamie snickers, but Damon does pay much attention to him. Not when he hears a chorus of other snickers behind him. He glares back, sneaking out the faces that snicker at him.
Only one apparently didn't mind being discovered.
The guy's much taller than Damon, about three inches or so, and muscle that is even visible through the loose fabric of the uniforms. His hair is a shade or dark amber almost copper if sunlight hit it in a certain angle, scrunch up nose and brown eyes-the kid is snaring at him. Damon turns back, rolling his eyes.
The ginger* wouldn't know what hit him.
Minutes pass when finally the campsite came in view. "Whoa..." Damon whispers.
"You can say that again." Jamie says, green orbs wider than usual. The whole camp itself is large, very large. Large enough to compete with the Salvatore's and Forbes's estate lawns. Further out are small cabinets, many in rows of eight on each side, big cabins and tents also make residence around the area.
Empty spaces full of obstacle courses and many cadets run across the newbies, in rows of four and lines of ten.
"Motivation Check!" yells someone from the herd, the instructor.
"HOORAH!" scream the cadets.
"Motivation Check!"
"HOORAH!"
There shouts diminish as they pass by. Sergeant Lightwood steps in front again.
"Alright Cadets! Welcome to the Confederation Army Camp of Virginia. Most of you are residence of Virginia, Mystic Falls. Others came from Charleston, Raleigh and a few from Indianapolis. When you are here, none of that matter! You are all brothers!
That means you will fight like brothers, bicker like brothers, hate like brothers but also love as brothers, support one another as brothers and be each others rock as brothers."
The five other sergeants came up continues,
"Now we will dispute you boys into platoons based right now by your last names. To my right is Sergeant Baldwin," the husky man grunts, a cold smile spreads across his face. Instantly, though not completely sure why, Damon doesn't like him.
"Cadets A through G will be in his care over Cabins J, he will lead you the way." Many young men swift to Baldwin's side-sixteen in total, including Jamie.
Jamie gives a small wave at Damon, who winks in return.
Good luck, Salvatore, his looks says.
You too, Forbes.
"Now," Lightwood says, moving closer to Damon.
"Sergeant Gosling," a smaller yet equally intimidating man steps closer, a visible scar runs down his cheek. "Will be taking care of Cadets H through Q over Cabins K."
Sergeant Gosling grunts, waving his hand for the seventeen cadets to follow him. "And lastly Sergeant Vandell," another buff officer with a sneer smile on his face and accompanied by a black right eye-patch-this man sends shivers down Damon's back.
"Will be taking care of all of ya-surnames R through Z at Cabins L. Now accommodate your cabins and meet shortly at the mess hall."
Sergeant Vandell steps where Lightwood was before he retreated down into camp. "Alright girls," his loud raspy voice fills Damon's ears. "You'll have five minutes to get cozy after than mess hall is a few yards to your left. I wanna see everybody there by eleven sharp! Understood?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Good! Now let's hustle!"
~0~0~0~0~
"Now since their are seventeen of you and eight cabins, one must have three cadets. Alright in Cabin L1 I want Rogers and Richmount. Cabin L2 Salvatore and Sanders. Cabin L3 Smith and Sampson. Next cabin L4, Tailor, Tanner and Tash. Lucky number three.
L5, I want Tobias and Torres. L6, Walker and Wallace. L7 Warwick and Yates and lastly L8 Zimmerman and Zunino. Hurry and get cozy five minutes start now! Move!"
Damon sighs, jogging to his cabin. Another boy seems to beat him to the door. He's fairly shorter than Damon, black hair too but with big green eyes and very long lashes. He almost look like a elf.
He smiles, opening the door and stepping side while saying, "Hey, I'm Stephan Sanders. You are?" Damon blinks at the mention of "Stefan" before smile, taking Sanders hand, "Damon Salvatore." He looks back into the cabin.
Two twin beds, two desk with pens and pencils in cups and fur rug in the middle of the floor. Two closets and cabinets and two windows on either side. Damon looks back at Sanders, "I call left you call right?"
Sanders shrugs, "Fine by me."
Both teens walk to their beds, unpacking quickly.
Once they were done they both walk out the door. Where four guys are waiting for them. Damon froze, eyes narrowing. Stephan gulps, stepping backwards.
One of the boys steps forward, instantly Damon knows him. Well, well, well, if it isn't ginger. The teen smirks, "Salvatore. Damon Salvatore I presume."
A sly smile creeps on his face, "The one and only...who are you?"
"Does it matter."
Damon frowns crossing his hands over his chest, "Well I need a name to add to my wins, no?"
'Ginger' growls, "You think you're better than us, huh, Salvatore. Being the sergeant's favorite."
"Aww come now, you're jealous."
'Ginger' steps closer, pushing him hard against his chest sending Damon tumbling backwards. "You think you are better than anyone else here, don't you," he taunts, voice getting dangerously deeper.
"Being a polite little stick up. Who where you back home anyways, eh? No one, weren't you." He pushes him again, back hitting the wood wall of the cabin. "Look! You can't even defend yourself," he slaps Damon's head. "Come on Salvatore. Didn't daddy teach you how to fight?"
Damon instantaneously glares at him, bangs brushing his forehead, sending his iciest eyes he can give.
'Ginger' raises a brow though Damon can always tell when his infamous cold stare can make a crack against their superior facades, 'Ginger' panics.
"Ahh got Daddy issues," he continues, smacking his head again. Idiot. What's the matter, Demon? Daddy don't love you? What bout Mommy? She don't love you either?"
Damon's head shots up, "Enough!" He launches himself to the taller teen, punching him straight in the nose.
All hell breaks loose.
The punch sends 'Ginger' to the floor, he looks up at Damon, surprise he manage to tumble him down. He didn't have time to analyze it all before Damon straddles him, both fish punching his face.
'Ginger's' friends also came out of their shock. Two of them grab Damon by his hands hoisting up while 'Ginger' wiggles out from underneath him. The third kid, sends a fist on Damon's stomach. Damon gasps, feeling the air getting suck out of him.
He punches him again and again.
Damon squeezes his eyes shut, failing to get any oxygen into his sore lungs. "Rah!" 'Ginger' yells sending a blow on Damon's face, his head recoiled to the side. Damon coughs up, small drips of blood snake pass his bruise lips.
'Ginger' delivers another blow in the opposite way and Damon tries to wiggle away from the other two's iron grips.
Suddenly 'Ginger' grunts, leaning forward and hands cupping his groin. He's mouth is wide open as he collapse on the dirt. In the same moment Damon snaps out of one iron grasp, elbowing the kid in the ribs, the other lets go spontaneously. Damon twirls around, kicking his stomach sending him to eat dirt.
He turns back to the other kid, kicking him as well and punch him while he's on the floor for good measure.
Damon turns back to 'Ginger' still on the ground, Stephan by his side staring wide eye.
"D-did you see that!" he exclaims barely containing his glee. "I've had no idea I kicked him that hard. Did you see his face? Oh my god, I barely was able to hold back my laugh!"
Damon stares at the kid, "Y-you did that?"
Stephan stops his little victory dance (which was cute in a way, Damon thinks,)
"Uhh yeah, man, they were beating you up badly. How are you anyway?"
Damon ignores the question, still in awe. "You kicked him? Ginger?"
Stephan smiles, "Yes, man! I couldn't let him beat you up! Ginger? Eh, funny nickname for him."
Damon steps closer, or so he though he step closer when suddenly the world tilted and someone block out the sun.
This just isn't his day.
~0~0~0~0~
"Well, well if it isn't Mr. Rebellious."
Damon growls, squinting at the bright light shining on his face.
"I swear the first time I saw you I just knew you're gonna be trouble. How are ya, kid?"
Damon grunts shifting to his side. He cracks his eyes open seeing Sergeant Lightwood and Vandall hovering over him.
He cracks a grin, "Everybody says that when they meet me."
Lightwood leans back rolling his eyes while Vandall pinches the bridge of his nose. " In the five minutes you've been here, you've cause a hellouta trouble, Cadet Salvatore. Fighting with another Cadet is against regulation."
Damon slowly leans forward, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Many nurses scatter right by him and his first officers carrying equipment and many fill-in bottles of medicine.
He licks his dry lips attentively, it sting as the saliva made contact with his burst lip. "What would you have me do, sir?"
Breaking rules never been accompanied without some sort of punishment.
Damon knows all about that.
Lightwood surprisingly chuckles, "Both Baldwin and I have been thinking of a suitable punishment for you conduct, Damon.
Yet we both understand you're reason to fight back. For and only this time Salvatore, we'll let it slide. But no more fighting in this camp without, of course, proper supervision and command, understand, Cadet?"
Damon eyes settle between the two commanding officer, he nods once lowering his eyes to the ground.
Lightwood grunts, accommodating his uniform, Baldwin just glares at him, "Good."
The two commanding Officers stalk out of the tent and in their place, Stephan appears.
"Hey man, how ya doing?"
Damon smiles, "Fine, nothing I can't take. How are you? Did Ginger and his gang get to you?"
Stephan smirks, sliding into the chair by Damon's bed, "Nope," he starts popping the "p."
"I'm too quick for those suckers anyway. Lucien never notice me behind him."
Lucien.
Damon makes a hmmp sound, sliding off the bed and walks out.
"Hey! Where you doing, Damon? You still are injured! You can't just waltz right out of there!"
"Just did, Sanders. Which cabin is Lucien's?"
Stephan stops walking. "Noooo you got to be kidding me!"
Damon turns back to him, grinning. "Relax, Stephan. I'm not that crazy...I just want to know for-future reference. Besides its only fair since he knows our cabin."
Stephan glares at Damon, big green eyes searching and oddly Damon found them quite cute-reminds him of his Stefan when he's trying to seize up Damon.
His eyes then came to rest ahead of Damon, "L5, I think. Lucien Torres, came with me from Charleston...it's a dick then and still a dick now."
Damon smirks looking back at the cabin, seeing a red-head figure inside, "You're in luck, Stef. I know how exactly how to seal with dickheads."
This just isn't his day.
But tomorrow will be.
I'll hopefully update more frequent since I'm determine to end this story already. Its suppose to be a small project and I'm delaying it for too long.
Oh and I apologize in advance. I don't know much about U.S. military rankings and their job description. I've did a bit of research but nothing solid comes up. So sorry if I'm wrong on the rankings or/and their official job description. Please if you know more about U.S. military ranking, share with me to correct myself.
* Eh, I have nothing against gingers! Actually nothing against anybody. So no offense to anyone here for implying that word. Thank you.
