The Hardest Path

A/N: Alright, a few warnings for this chapter. Well, one major warning. Violence. Rather, the aftermath of violence. As witnessed by a twelve year old boy. Please do be prepared.


12 years later...


The sunlight peeking in around his robot-themed bedroom curtains was almost enough to wake the boy fully. As it was, he tossed his head fitfully in a half-asleep attempt to escape the insistent morning light. He didn't truly awaken until his mother gently tapped on his door, softly calling his name. "Nicholas? Get up, sweetie, you'll be late for school."

This snapped him awake, seafoam eyes so like his mother's opening quickly to stare at the pale blue ceiling. Grumbling and groaning the entire time, the young boy rolled out of his bed, hair sticking up at all possible angles. Clad in boxers and socks, he shuffled from the warmth and safety of his bedroom, shivering when the cold air of the rest of the apartment hit his skin. "Mom, turn the heat on, please!" Nicholas called, rubbing his arms to try and keep warm.

He was in the bathroom washing his face and trying to get the unruly tendrils of his hair to behave before he heard her reply, "Now, you know we can't afford the heat right now. Be glad your room is small enough to stay as warm as it does."

Back to his deliciously warm room the boy went, changing his underclothes and getting dressed for the day. Nicholas made sure his backpack had all of his books and supplies in it, turned his room upside down looking for his homework, and stuffed that in the backpack as well. Still a little groggy, he dragged himself and his backpack into their makeshift dining room, plopping down at the tiny table in one of the two old plastic chairs.

Chipper in the morning, as always, his mother hummed as she set a spoon and a bowl of cereal in front of him, pouring milk in as he watched. Murmuring his thanks, he began to eat, not noticing the way Charity paused to examine her son.

Nicholas looked just like his mother, from the eyes to his delicately pale skin. Even his hair looked like hers, black as the night sky. Only, where Charity's hair shone almost blue in the right lighting, his seemed to shine uneasy green. She was beyond grateful that his hair looked black to the naked eye. If it had been a few shades lighter, obvious green in color...Charity shuddered to think of it. No doubt, the Kagailas' would take her precious boy away from her.

As if he felt the weight of her stare, Nicholas looked up, puzzled. "What's wrong? My hair's not combed right, or...?" Automatically reaching up and beginning to smooth his hair, the boy let a light frown twist his lips. He knew his hair was frustrating, to say the least. Pixie hair, his mother called it. It was quick to stand up, and even after combing or when wet, each separate chunk of hair curled slightly upwards at the end. Annoying, for a twelve year old boy.

"No, sweetie. You're fine. Mommy was just thinking." Charity went back to getting ready for work, ignoring her son's tiny snort at being talked to like a smaller child.


In the next half hour, Charity gave her son's cheek a kiss and left for her job at the 24-hour laundromat a few blocks away, leaving Nicholas to pack himself a lunch and see himself onto the school bus.


~~~~~~~~~~


When Nicholas got home, he let himself into their tiny apartment with the key he wore around his neck, calling out for his mother. There was no answer, which Nic was used to. As he walked through the kitchen, he saw something on the dining room table. A box, wrapped in bright blue paper, with a small attatched card. "Happy Twelfth Birthday," he read aloud, "Bet you thought I forgot! Love, Mom."

Grinning with the excited madness that twelve year old boys are always capable of, Nic tore into the paper and opened the box, lifting his present from the tissue paper inside. A tiny robot, no more than six inches tall, and a remote control. Both robot and remote had batteries included, and Nic wasted no time in walking the little man across the table and back, overjoyed that it worked so well.


The day faded off into sleepy darkness, Nic spending his afternoon testing the robot's ability to walk on different surfaces, up slopes, and down hills. When he got hungry, he made a small dinner for himself and his mother, covering Charity's plate and setting it inside the oven. She was working a double shift at the laundromat, and wouldn't be home until the early hours of the morning. Nicholas planned to wait up for her, and thank her for his gift. It was Friday, after all, what would be the harm in staying up?

Despite his best efforts, Nic ended up snoozing on the living room floor, robot toppled over next to him as if it had wanted a nap as well. Something thunked against his front door, and the boy sprung awake, instantly alert due to years of experience. Sudden noise, bad. The noise came again, however. Warily approaching the door, Nic pressed his ear to it, listening intently.

"Nic...las...open..."

Eyes widening in panic, Nicholas recognized his mother's voice, quickly unlocking the door and yanking it open. What he saw there on his doorstep took several long moments to process through his shocked mind.

Charity. His mother. Bruised face already, blood flowing freely from her nose, trickling from her mouth. There were tears in her work clothes, blood spattered and splotched all over her. There were bruises forming all over her bare arms, as if someone had grabbed her and shaken her. As he stared down at her, she coughed hard, more blood falling on his clean bare feet. Still in a state of shock, Nicholas went to the phone and dialed the police.


He managed to hold the hysterical sobbing back until after they'd loaded his mother into the ambulance.




A/N: I'm not the best at writing angsty yuck-yuck. So I don't know how I did with that. However, things are about to get a lot worse. I can't quite figure out how to update the warnings properly, so I'll just have to do it at the beginning of each chapter. Nic is 12. Nic will be forced into several situations not appropriate for children in the very near future. So, if you can't handle that, you'd best leave now. But keep in mind that he's just a character, my character, and I don't have to make his life all sunshine and lollipops. There will be a Minor warning in the future. Moving on.


To Wynja and Rin! Thank you for helping me so much with the name thing! My final decision is Nicholas Johan Tiergan. I just really love that. So, Wynja, you get two wish-fics in the future, and Rin gets one too! Thank you again for your help!