Chapter Text
The heat is practically coming up in visible waves from the pavement as Billy steps off the bus, knock-off aviators sitting low on his nose, duffle bag slung easily over his left shoulder. The dust in the air burns his lungs, and his free hand instinctively reaches for the pack of cigarettes in his back pocket, before remembering he’d moved them to his jacket on account of he’s been sitting on his ass for the past two days. A jacket that he wears like armor, even in the Texas heat. He’s tugging the half-empty pack from his interior pocket when a black man in a weird looking uniform walks toward him, giving him a steady once over before finishing his approach.
“You William Hargrove?”
“Billy,” Billy responds, tapping a cigarette from the pack and pulling it out using his lips, “You got a light?” To Billy’s surprise the man actually glances around before producing a cheap Bic lighter from his pocket.
“Shouldn’t,” he says, even as he thumbs at the flint in a well-practiced swipe, “but shit, kid, I had twenty bucks on you bailing somewhere around LA.” Billy raises an eyebrow as he leans in toward the flame, cigarette paper burning quickly as he takes a deep inhale.
“Can’t say I didn’t think about it,” smoke exhales through his mouth and nose as he relishes his first hit of nicotine in the past eight hours. The driver that picked up in El Paso didn’t stop for shit, and his dad had booked him on a non-smoking bus, likely a final “fuck you” for the summer.
He takes another drag, offering the pack to the other man, surprised again when he takes it, taps one out, and hands it back to him before lighting up himself.
“One last hurrah, yeah? They don’t allow this kinda stuff in there, you know?”
“Yeah, figured,” Billy says around the cigarette, taking a few steps into the shade of the bus station overpass. Dry heat his ass, it’s hot as fuck in San Antonio. The man follows him, and for a second Billy allows himself the tiniest bit of hope that this summer might not be so bad.
“Name’s Collins,” the man says, flicking his cigarette and not offering his hand, “I’m in charge of transportation and deliveries.”
“And which one am I?”
“I’ll decide once we get to the van.” He takes one more drag before tossing the butt to the ground and crushing it underneath his boot heel. Billy is loathe to follow suit but does so anyway, knowing he’s likely already pushed his luck to the limit. He follows Collins through the bus terminal and into a dusty parking lot to a rickety looking conversion van. Maybe he’ll get lucky and it’ll explode on the way.
“Toss your bag in the back, you can sit up front so long as you promise not to jump from the car.”
“Well shit, don’t go giving me ideas now, Collins,” Billy jokes, hoping a little levity will win him some points. Really, besides his dad, Billy’s always been pretty good at charming adults. Even half the police force in Emeryville thought he was an okay kid who just made some bad decisions. Teachers liked him, his friends’ parents liked him, it was just his own parent who saw him as a worthless piece of shit who needed to be taught some discipline. ‘Tough love’ he liked to call it.
Billy slings his bag into the back of the van, among boxes of plastic cutlery and hotdog buns, before hopping into the front seat. Pop cans and fast food wrappers litter the footwell, the smell suggesting not all of them had been completely empty before being balled up and tossed. He shoots a baleful glance at Collins - getting situated in the driver’s seat - before reclining his own seat back as far as it can go. After nearly two days on the ridgid seats of the Greyhound this was paradise.
“Drive’s about 45 minutes. Get some shut eye if you need, cause when you get to SACC they’re gonna run you til nightfall.” Collins warns before slipping the key into the ignition. To Billy’s surprise the engine turns on the first try, vibrating the floor boards just enough to feel soothing.
“Thanks man,” he says, and means it. The heat and the travel exhaustion leave his eyelids heavy, and it’s not a challenge at all to let sleep overtake him.
He dreams about the ocean.
++++
Too soon he’s being shaken awake, startled out of sleep by a pair of hands gripping onto his left arm.
“C’mon kid, time to pay the piper.” It takes Billy a full 15 seconds to remember who’s talking and where he is. And then it all comes flooding back to him. The stolen car, the vandalism, his dad’s fists, Susan crying. He rubs a hand over his face, nudging his sunglasses into his tangled curls as he pushes his fingertips into his eyes so hard he starts to see spots.
“Best if you sit up, first impressions and all,” the man, Collins, Billy remembers, says as he puts the van back into drive. Billy’s hand gropes blindly for the lever, squeezing it and snapping the seat forward so fast he thinks he might have whiplash. He’s rubbing at his neck as the van makes the transition from paved to dirt roads, shocks so worn every rock and divot is felt. He takes these last few moments to rub the sleep out of his eyes and tuck his sunglasses into his front pocket before attempting to detangle his hair. Collins is right about one thing, first impressions are everything, especially in a place like this.
“You ready?” He asks as the van comes rumbling up to a heavy chain link fence, complete with barbed wire on top.
“Not like I have much choice,” Billy mutters, giving up on his hair and wishing he’d thought of a way to sneak his cigarettes in. Or some weed. Fuck, some weed would be great right now.
Another guy in a weird uniform comes up to the van, and Collins rolls down the window and hands a few papers and a card to him. Billy gulps, throat gone dry as he watches the man’s eyes scan over the papers, and after a quick hand signal the gate is rolled open. He hands everything back to Collins, who accepts with a nod before setting the small pile on the dash and putting the van back into drive. The window stays open despite all the dust they’re kicking up on the road, and Billy is able to smell the mixture of sun and sweat and dirt.
It’s not long before they’re surrounded by ugly tan buildings and a dead looking field, grass fried from the scorching sun and lack of water. Goddamn he misses Cali. There are some people in uniforms like Collins’, but mostly he sees guys around his age wearing a white t-shirt tucked into khaki pants and heavy boots, doing stuff that looks like calisthenics or drills like they’d do in gym class when Coach was feeling particularly sinister.
Collins parks the van in front of a large but otherwise nondescript building. A man in fatigues and a crew cut is standing outside, eyeing the vehicle, mouth quirked up as his gaze lands on Billy.
“Ho-ly shit, he actually came,” the man crows in a heavy southern accent as he walks over to the van. “Ya owe me twenty bucks there, Coll.”
“Yeah yeah, I’ll get it to ya. Where’m I takin’ ‘im?”
“Barrack 6, uniform’s on his bunk,” he gives Billy another scrutinizing look, “we’ll deal with the hair later.” Billy tries to keep the terror out of his eyes as Collins nods, putting the van into drive once more. His heart is beating wildly as they drive across the campus, passing another group of… cadets? Prisoners? Billy looks harder this time, trying to see if the guy was using a scare tactic, or if it was a real threat. None of the boys seem to have long hair, but not many have a shorn look, either, at least as much as he can tell as the van moves along. He guesses he could ask Collins, but doesn’t want to show his hand so soon.
They roll to a stop in front of a grey building with a large 6 painted on the side. Collins puts the car in park and turns to look at Billy.
“Listen, kid, I’m not gonna lie, this place sucks. But keep your head down and your nose clean and you’ll be okay.”
“Are they gonna…” he trails off, pointing towards his hair. Collins presses his lips together, making Billy’s gut clench.
“Well,” he says after a moment, “the good news is mullets are on their way out. And hair grows back, so just deal with it.” His words belay the softness in his eyes, a sadness Billy is surprised to find is for him.
“Thanks, Collins,” he says before setting the slightly crumpled, half-empty pack of cigarettes on the center console, “Hang onto these for me, will ya?” And then he’s squeezing the handle and releasing the door latch. He hops out and takes a couple seconds to stretch his back out before going around to grab his bag. Collins gives him a small salute as the truck rumbles off, and Billy is left alone in front of the ugly barracks. He slings his bag over his right shoulder, takes a deep breath, and struts in.
+++++
It doesn’t take long for Billy to learn the ropes around this place. Years of navigating Neil’s temper have taught him how to read facial tics and body language, know when to push and when to bow.
But that’s just with the sergeants.
The cadets are a whole other matter. Billy doesn’t have to waste time reading them, he just has to own them. Assert his dominance and sit on the top of the pile. All it takes is a couple of punches before he’s the head of his barracks. After that he can rely mostly on word of mouth and attitude to raise him to the top ranks of the whole campus.
It’s a whole week before he’s finally led to the make-shift barber shop. He puts on a ‘fuck if I care’ face, but on the inside his heart is beating a mile a minute. For just a few seconds he contemplates fighting his way out and making a break for it, but knows it would be stupid, pointless. Too many people to stop him, and nowhere to run. Story of his fuckin life.
He sucks in a breath and clenches his fists as he hears the razor start up, pushing down the bile as he feels its teeth on the back of his neck, curly locks dropping to the ground. It’s just hair, it’s just hair repeats over and over in his head, but it’s not, not really. It’s him, being erased in this place.
It’s too long and no time at all before the razor stops, and he feels hands brushing stray strands off his shoulders. He pries his eyes open, not even sure when he shut them, and looks at his new hair. He blinks back the tears, absolutely unwilling to show that kind of weakness, and hears his father’s slurs in his head.
Fuck but his dad would love this haircut.
He juts out his chin, nods at the men essentially keeping him captive, and goes out the door. Normally the fresh air would help him keep his composure, but all he sucks in is heat and dust, and it makes him want to scream. He bites down on his bottom lip and starts heading back to the barracks when he hears someone shouting at him.
“Jason? Yo, Jason! Where the fuck’re you headed? We’re at the wall.” Billy gives him a sneer and keeps moving, right until he feels fingers clasp around his arm. He doesn’t even have time to think before his body is twisting around and he’s decking the guy in the jaw. A couple cadets he hadn’t even noticed come running over, one excitedly shouting “Fight!” while the other stares at them with eyes like saucers.
The other guy stands up, hand on his jaw, and glares at Billy, “Jason, what the fuck? Why the fuck di’you hit me?”
“Who the fuck is Jason?” Billy spits, getting ready to throw another punch when he hears a shrill whistle. He drops his fist and puts his hands behind his head, palms brushing up against the foreign prickle of his new haircut.
“Scott! Marsden! The fuck’s going on?” Billy snaps his eyes at the approaching sergeant, letting his arms fall to his sides.
“Scott decked Marsden!” The excited kid, a toothy redhead, practically shouts, and Billy is so far past confused now. He turns to face the sergeant.
“Sir, I’m not Jason, or Scott, or Marsden-”
“I’m Marsden-”
“I don’t fuckin’ care, my name is Billy Hargrove, I’m in barrack six, and my CO is gonna be looking for me.”
“F’you’re in barrack six why’re you all the way over here?”
“Getting my haircut... sir,” he tacks that last bit on, knowing men who think they’re the authority liked to hear it, and he doesn’t want to get tossed in the brig or the hole or whatever the fuck they call it around here, whatever’s worse than the prison he’s already in. The guy gives Billy a hard look, eyes squinting, and even leans in a little before sucking at his teeth and pulling the radio from his belt.
“Sgt. Ford, you copy?” It’s a few seconds before the radio clicks and a fuzzy “Copy,” is heard.
“This is Sgt. Kern, you have eyes on Jason Scott?”
“Sure do. Just finished the wall.”
“That so?” Kern drawls, eyes never leaving Billy.
“Yep. Why, want me to put him on?”
“Nope, just clearing up some stuff. Over and out.” He clicks the radio back onto his belt, still staring at Billy. “You boys get back to where you’re headed, Hargrove and I are gonna take a walk to barrack six.” The three boys take off immediately, and Billy grits his teeth as Kern grabs his arm, leading him roughly back to where he’d been headed in the first place. Billy may not know who Jason Scott is, but he’s definitely going to beat his ass for this.