The next morning when Harry wakes up, he tenses at the feeling of breathing against his neck. His old tentmate would never get too close that they could feel each other's breath, and even though all the men were freezing cold in the barn, no one ever was in close enough proximity for Harry to feel their body heat. However, waking up today, it reminds him a bit of when he was younger and his mother would coddle him and hold him close after waking from a night terror.
Harry shifts slightly and hears the bones in his back pop into place after sleeping on the uncomfortable ground. He stretches his arms up before sighing rolling over, coming face-to-face with an unconscious Niall.
Harry reels back slightly after their heads almost touch, not wanting to disturb the man. He knows how little sleep Niall must've gotten while being locked in the cellar. Instead, he sits up and collects the remaining layers of his uniform, knowing roll-call will start soon. He pulls his blue jacket over his shoulders and stuffs his arms into the holes, wishing they were longer so he could keep his hands and fingers covered. He shakes around his canteen a few times, hearing the water slosh around noisily. He should have enough for the rest of the morning, at least. Finally, he ties his boots and pulls his rucksack securely onto his back.
After pulling himself together and spending a few moments in the nice quiet, only the sounds of Niall's breathing reminding him that he's really in this world and not dead like he sometimes thinks he is, he crawls out of the tent. The sun has barely risen and the camp is mostly quiet except for a few other men stirring after their slumber. Harry stretches out his back further and pops his knees as he watches their drill sergeant make his way to the center of the field where they all meet first thing in the morning.
More and more men come out from their tents and into conversation with each other. Harry finds a lone spot in the field as he waits for the sergeant to begin roll-call. He can hear people's whispers, and obvious word has gotten around that Niall is very much alive and staying with them. A few people throw him disgusted looks when he looks over.
Harry shrugs them off. He believes Niall will grow on them soon enough, as long as his implementation is slow and not shoved in their face.
Soon, a whistle is blown and everyone stands to attention toward the drill sergeant. All of Harry's comrades have formed their ranks in front of the intimidating man, their conversations cutting off as soon as they began.
All men, and including Harry, lift their arms in a salute as the man walks in front of each man, gauging their reactions. If this were bootcamp, people would be quivering and biting their lips, hoping they aren't singled out for anything. However, as he walks past, all men are determined, hard-faced and ready for commands to be given.
The drill sergeant walks past Harry, sending him a strange look. Harry keeps his eyes glued forward, his salute not moving even an inch. He walks past without any issues arising.
"Men, whoever cleaned the dishes last night did an atrocious job. You all are to clean the dishes again, lest you enjoy eating out of shit-covered bowls." The drill sergeant starts, not naming any names, as the men who were responsible for cleaning yesterday knew who they were.
"The fields are nearly ready for harvest, and I expect all of you to be out there picking corn and wheat, or else you will get nothing to eat for the rest for the rest of the winter." Harry hopes harvesting the fields will be Niall's chance.
"We have have hand-to-hand combat in sessions today. Your partners will be picked for you, and your fighting skills will be assessed by the corporal himself. Be prepared."
"Final announcement, men. We have a new recruitment today." Harry is tempted to look around for the new face, but is stopped when the drill sergeant calls, "Styles, mind fetching him for us?"
"Yes, sir. Is he in the corporal's office, sir?" Harry drops his salute.
"Last I heard, he was shacking up with you for the night. Did you not rouse him this morning for roll-call, or was the fucker too lazy to get up?"
Harry freezes, "Sir? I was not assigned a new tentmate last night."
"Niall, was it? The prisoner?" The drill sergeant guesses.
"He stayed with me, but he's--"
"A new recruitment. Word straight from the corporal himself."
"But I--"
"Go fetch him for us, Styles, and we'll talk once he's here." The drill sergeant nods Harry in the direction of the tents, saluting him. Harry raises his own are subconsciously before turning his back on the group and speed-walking back to his tent.
He bursts through the tent flaps, dropping to his knees next to Niall and shaking him. "Niall, wake up."
Niall groans and rolls onto his back, fluttering his eyes open. "What's wrong?"
"Get up, Niall. We have to go."
"Go where? What happened?" Niall rubs at his eye with his fist, wiping away the crusty, dry eye boogers that have collected at the edges.
"They want you at roll-call. C'mon, now." Harry shakes Niall again until he finally sits up. As Niall stretches and pulls his coat on, Harry laces up his boots and pulls him to his feet as soon as they're on.
Niall nearly falls over and Harry pulls him to the field where all his comrades are, but before he can ask any further questions, they're both in line with their rank, where a special space has been opened up for Niall. Harry throws his arm up in salute to the drill sergeant who has seemingly waited for their return. Niall slowly lifts his arm as well, trying to blink away the blurriness in his vision.
"Very impressive, Styles. Didn't think you'd be able to get this bum to move. After spending weeks in a cellar, I'm surprised his legs even work." The sergeant walks in front of the two, "At ease, soldier." He regards Harry, and Harry's arm drops. Niall's hand remains pressed to his forehead.
Niall can feel the judgmental looks of all his new allies, knowing they don't regard him that way yet.
"The corporal was very dead-set on you being a soldier. I don't know why; last I checked, we don't accept every enemy with a sob story into these ranks." He sniffs. "Said someone put in a pretty good word for you and begged for you be treated like a real soldier." His eyes shift over to Harry, who is trying to keep himself from showing emotion in the eyes of his superior.
"I'm not sure how they recruit on the other-side, but let me show you how we do it over here." Niall keeps his arm raised to his brow.
The drill sergeant cracks his knuckles and fans out his fingers, making sure everyone has their eyes on the two. After a second of silence, he reels his arm back and throws a fist straight into Niall's gut. Niall finally drops his arm to cover his stomach, bending over as he coughs. The punch winded him, but not enough to make him fall over. However, the man kicks his legs out and sweeps them under Niall's feet as he's already off-balance, making him topple into the dirt.
Harry gasps and reaches out to help Niall, but the drill sergeant yells, "Don't assist him, Styles! To be a real soldier, he must learn how to take it! Stand up!"
Niall wobbles on his feet when he stands back up, but stumbles when the drill sergeant throws his arms out and pushes Niall back. He tries to catch himself and hopes that maybe one of the surrounding people will catch him, but they all step out of the way so he falls ungracefully to the ground again.
"Get up!"
Niall tries to stand again, but kicks are sent into his shins repeatedly. He crawls back using his hands, trying to protect himself.
"Stand up now, that's an order!"
Niall finally is able to evade the kicks and rests on his knees, using his arm to push up off the ground. However, another harsh kick is sent right into his groin, and he finally falls into a fetal position, groaning and curling up.
"Weakling. Don't know why the corporal insisted on recruiting such a weak, useless little boy. This company is for strong, determined men. You'd die within one day on the battlefield." The drill sergeant spits, saliva showering over Niall's small frame. "Now I see why they sent you out into the forest. Not even the enemy wanted you. You're a liability. You're a target. You're bait."
The drill sergeant steps away from Niall. He lifts his arm in salute to the rest of his soldiers, and everyone stands to attention immediately. Even Harry, though unwillingly.
"Your combat partners will be revealed after breakfast. You are dismissed."
As everyone begins separating off into groups, Harry falls to his knees next to his injured friend. "Niall," he cries. "I'm so sorry."
"It's all right." Niall answers, groaning as he shifts on the ground.
"He had no right to treat you like that, Niall. None of us ever had to face such violence."
"It was gonna happen eventually, Harry. You knew people weren't gonna be happy about me."
"They should've given me time to bring you into it slowly. I didn't know it'd be happening so fast."
"Better now than never." Niall reasons.
Harry sighs, knowing Niall's optimism is due to what he said ages ago about thinking positively. He regrets it.
"I'll give you a few minutes and then we can head to breakfast, since it seems I can't keep you safe in the tent any longer."
"I wouldn't have wanted that anyway. Staying in one place for any longer would've made me go insane."
"They're all gonna start treating you like this. You'd be safe in the tent, at least."
"I have you to protect me." Niall reminds him.
Harry scoffs, "Yeah, 'cause I did such a good job just now."
"Hey," Niall argues, "if you had intervened, he would've hurt you, too, and I don't want that. Only protect someone if you're not putting yourself at danger to do so."
Harry sighs, rubbing his face as Niall sits up, his pain having faded into dull aches. "Can you walk?"
"Yes, Harry, I'm fine. Now let's go get breakfast, I'm famished."