The Hardest Path

A/N: There's an implied Minor warning in this chapter, so don't come complaining to me if you read it and are offended for some reason. Yeah, Nic's 12. And no, I will not be nice to him just because of that. Sorry.




Nicholas rode to the hospital in a police car that night, since all adults consulted seemed to think it would scar him to ride with his mother in the ambulance. The cops, after depositing the boy in the hospital waiting room, made vague mentions of calling child protective services. Nic had no idea if the police followed through with their threats, but he never saw a worker. Several tense hours passed, Nicolas pacing back and forth in the waiting room like a madman. When the nurse came to get him, she paused at the sight of the dark smudges of exhaustion under his eyes, the unhealthy paleness of his skin. Too young, she thought, for him to be so worried. Shaking her head and taking his hand, the nurse led Nic into his mother's hospital room and left, allowing them a few moments of privacy.

Charity was weak, but awake, happy to see her son and worried about him seeing her. "Oh, sweetie. I'm so sorry," she whispered through violently swollen lips. Nicholas didn't speak, didn't think that he could without screaming the walls down with the force of his rage. Instead, he took his mother's hand and held it to his cheek, trying to ignore the soft sobs that shook her delicate frame.

"They stole our money, sweetie," Charity managed to choke out between sobs. "The rent, food money. Everything." Young though he was, Nicholas still knew what that meant. The guys who'd beat up his mom took her cash as well. No rent money, no apartment. Nowhere for his mom to recover. She couldn't stay here for long, that much was certain. Too expensive.

Nicholas ended up sleeping right there in his mother's hospital room, rickety plastic chair pulled up to her bed so he could hold her hand. The next morning, the doctor came in to check on her, said she was recovering well. Charity told him she was going home, and since he knew she had no medical insurance, he didn't argue. Looking at the stiff way she hobbled around the apartment, Nicholas almost wished the doctor had kept her.

Nic did what he could to help his mother around the house, cleaning and cooking so that she could lie down and focus on getting better. As time went on, he began staying home from school, though Charity didn't approve, practically begging him to go. "It's just for a while, Mom," Nicholas insisted each time she protested. "Just until you're okay again."

Their landlord, Mr. Allan, came banging on the door demanding rent. They ignored him, and he went away. When he came back, it was with his spare key. A small man, with beady black eyes and a pale, narrow face, he reminded Nicholas of a ugly little rat. Despite his appearance, Mr. Allan was fair but strict, and Nic thought they might have a chance of holding on to the apartment. "Look, Charity," Mr. Allan started, after hearing the full story of what had happened to her, "I can't just let you live for free. I mean, I got kids of my own I have to feed. If I let you slide, I gotta let everyone slide. You understand, right?"

Trying desperately not to cry, Charity nodded and murmured that she understood quite well. Mr. Allan sighed almost sadly and shuffled to the door, giving them three days to get their stuff out of the apartment. After that, he was calling his own guys in to haul their belongings to the dump. Mr. Allan must have felt the searing heat of Nicholas' glare, the rage in the boy growing with every passing minute. "Them's the breaks, boy," the landlord said with a shrug, leaving the apartment without another word.

Charity and Nic both knew they were losing everything. Charity had no family they could turn to, few friends. No car where they could sleep for a while, until they could figure something else out. In the end, mother and child each had to pack one suitcase of clothes and toiletries, leaving the rest behind as they were forced out of the apartment. Mr. Allan wasn't heartless, and he helped Charity pawn anything of value in the apartment, and though it wasn't enough money for rent, it was enough to buy a little food and rent a motel room for a few nights.

With his mother still unable to return to work, or do much else, Nicholas knew it was up to him to do something. Anything. He couldn't let Charity be on the street. Sitting in the semi-darkness created by the streetlight outside their window, Nicholas watched her sleep. The delicate, soft-spoken lady who had become his mother, tricked by his anonymous father into raising him alone. The rage was still there, bubbling like acid in the pit of his stomach, burning and hurting even as it drove him on, keeping him from breaking down. Now, Nic raged at everyone. The muggers, Mr. Allan, the doctor. Even at his mother, some dark part of him realized. At his mother, for being so clueless as to get caught by those men. For being so naive.

But that was the past, and Nicholas couldn't afford to get lost in it. No, now he had to think. Had to get money somehow, and take care of the both of them.

Nic decided to take a walk, explore a little and clear his head. It was early yet, not even eleven at night. Jamming his hands deep down into his pockets, the boy hunched his shoulders against the night chill, shaking his messy hair out of his eyes. The further from his motel room he got, the more he realized they were in an even worse part of town than they'd been in before, as he passed corner-hugging hookers tossed in with drug dealers and other criminals. They looked at him, but didn't try and stop him or talk to him, with the exception of one young redheaded girl, wearing too much make-up and not enough clothing. "Looking for your mama, sugar? I'll take good care of you, if you got the cash for it," she said in a sultry, enticing voice, stepping closer to Nic as he stopped walking.

"I thought prostitution was illegal," came the boy's flat reply, "Whores have to work in a certified brothel, or not at all, according to the laws the Kagailas' laid down a few years back."

The girl snickered and reached out, ruffling his already mussed hair. "You do what you have to do, sugar, if you want to keep a roof over your head. Besides, it's damn hard to get proper brothel work, these days." Shaking his head at the thought that anyone would consider brothel work to be proper, Nicholas moved on, continuing his walk.

He was deep in thought, not paying much attention to how far he'd walked, when a car drove smoothly up to the curb, keeping pace with him as the window rolled down. "Hey. Hey, there," a deep, friendly voice came from the dark interior of the car. "You want to make an easy twenty bucks?"

Nicholas stopped walking altogether, staring at the car and the man inside it as he considered his options. The hooker's words floated back to him.

You do what you have to do, sugar, if you want to keep a roof over your head.

With a small shrug, Nic adopted a cocky grin, hoping to hide the sickening fear coursing through his veins. "Sure, I could use some cash," Nic replied confidently as he stepped up to the car, climbing inside.


A/N: So, we get a taste of what Nic's life will be like for a while. Poor kid. As always, comments and suggestions are welcome.