A/N: K, I worked for a while on this one, so I hope it came out well. Just to give yall some prospective while you're reading, this is one of those 'driver' chapters. Its not that the chap is latent with action, but rather it's a slightly a deeper look into some of the characters. I have decided to try to keep the word count over five thousand from now on, I think every one can get more out of the updates that way. Lastly the Boondock's are not mine. There is swearing and a minor consuming alcohol. Enjoy.

The day had passed away without activity but not without notice. Huey still stayed close to his bed, leaving only for the bathroom and occasionally to his computer when the confines of his bed made him restless. Granddad did what he normally did on quiet days, devote copious amounts of his time to his MySpace 'cutie pies', although he did well to keep up on his older grandson. Few words had been exchanged between the members of the Freeman household, it was just one of those days where talking didn't seem to make much difference either way.

Now, while it wasn't necessarily any of Riley's business, it was to his knowledge that Huey would very soon have to be weaned away from the pain-killers that were keeping most of his irritability at bay. While Riley did not chance across this news in so many words, he was able to deduce that much in overhearing a brief exchange between his grandfather and Huey while on his way to the washroom. Huey had sounded irritated when Granddad started stating the obvious.

"I know Granddad. You don't have to keep telling me that my prescription's up; if it's okay, I'd prefer not to be reminded of the suspension of reprieve for my discomfort."

"Boy you betta keep them five dolla words to yo'self."

Granddad was only concerned, and why shouldn't he be? He had heard the horror stories of people who became addicted to their prescriptions, and he just didn't want Huey to be one of them. Then of course there was him, the troublemaker. Riley still couldn't put off the twinges of guilt that would creep into his belly every time the pandemonium he helped to instigate chewed at his mind. It seemed more and more to him that the people he cared about paid for his recklessness. He knew that his grandfather had better things he could be spending his energy on then attending a hearing that involved him. Speaking of which, wasn't that supposed to take place that coming Monday?

But more than all of that at the moment, Thugnificent.

Riley couldn't suppress the chill that ran up his spine as the name spilled into his mind like wasted water. Coming to think of it, his sleep the night before had been rather restless. When he had retired, he tossed and turned for nearly two hours trying to force the foreboding images of the gangsta rapper from his mind. That morning when he awoke, he found himself no more rested than when he fought himself asleep. Riley though, despite his exhaustion, could not claim anymore rest and simply lay in his bed for most of the late a.m. hours. He only knew he could laze like that because their grandfather did not wish to disturb Huey with his screeching protests. When Riley finally emerged from his bed well after eleven, he resigned himself to the couch to pass the hours away with the various video games at his disposal. More than once did Granddad pause to ask him if he deserved to be playing video games in light of his actions at school.

"Well, its better than disturbin' Huey." Riley had responded after pausing his game. Robert only looked at his grandson through slightly smudged glasses before warning him to keep letting his brother be—as if he didn't already know to do that. Of course he wanted to let his brother be…he wanted very much to take back all the damage that had been unfairly dealt to him. That was his and Butch's fight, no one else should have been involved.

But that was all water under the bridge now. In a few more hours, after the Freeman house fell silent with slumber, Riley would cross Timid Deer Lane to Thugnificent's estate and become privy to whatever scheme the man had in store. It was not something he was looking forward to.

..oo..

It was a quarter till one when Riley put off the covers that loosely clung to his slender form. Glancing over at his sleeping brother, Riley climbed out of his bed and knelt down to collect the clothes he had previously laid there. Creeping to the door, he was through it and down the stairs within seconds. Riley didn't worry if he'd be alone at this hour, he could hear his grandfather's snores loudly through the hall. In the front door's breezeway, Riley hastily dressed—he didn't want to risk rousing Huey with the surprisingly loud rustle of fabric.

Placing a ball cap on his head, Riley was out of the house and low on the stoop. Yes the cap was a seemingly useless accessory in the dead of night, obscuring only his cornrows. If anyone was to spot him, he would immediately become suspect, seeing as that a child his age should be at home—especially in Woodcrest. Taking care to check his surroundings, Riley quickly made steps to Thugnificent's front door.

On the stoop, Riley looked around once more to make sure there was no one around. Satisfied that he was indeed alone, he gave two swift knocks on the large wooden door—he knew just how obnoxiously loud Thugnificent's doorbell could be and was sure that nether he or Thugnificent would want it sounding through the house and echoing out into the quiet streets. At the same time though, how could Thugnificent have possibly heard his knocks? Riley's small fist was powerful, but he knew it couldn't be heard in every part the house. Then again, if Nificent was expecting him—and he knew he was—it shouldn't matter.

Regardless, several minutes had passed with Riley standing in the still night air on Thugnificent's doorstep; the boy began to wonder. 'I know he ain't sleep.' Riley thought to himself. He tried the door, and to his surprise found it unlock. An anxious feeling came over him as he slipped into the main foyer's interior. It was mostly unlit, save for the outside lamplight that filtered through the windows, the many busts of Thugnificent catching its light. The door closed behind Riley with a soft click as he took a few tentative steps across the marble floor. He was unsure if he should call out. Maybe Thugnificent really was asleep. But again no, not when he was expecting him. It briefly crossed his mind to go downstairs to the range, but then thought better of it. True he had spent a lot of time there in the passed months, but it was not his house, and thus it would have been quite disrespectful to just let himself anywhere.

After another minute or so, Riley glanced down to the cheap plastic digital watch that was buckled round his thin wrist. He couldn't read the watch face without straining, but after a moment could make out that it was about eight passed the hour. Where the hell was he?

"I'm glad ta see you take punctuality seriously."

Riley could feel his sinuses prickle clear as the deep voice floated to him through the air. He looked over his shoulder to find Thugnificent silhouetted against the marble of the columns of his foyer, strong arms folded. It was dark, needless to say, but Riley could make out the long tee and pajama bottoms that the rapper wore, which flowed down his large frame modestly.

"Hava seat." He said, motioning to the large living room. A few seconds later, Riley found himself sitting uncomfortably on one of the overstuffed loveseats, despite the velvety feel of the upholstery.

Though Thugnificent couldn't tell in the low light, Riley watched him with uneasy eyes as he moved to an abbreviated mini-bar, collecting a bottle and two drinking glasses. Riley continued to watch him as the man walked to the large and ornate glass table that he sat in front of. Thugnificent didn't look at the boy as he set on the table with a soft clink one of the two glasses he held. Riley continued to eye him wearily as Thugnificent lowered the bottle, which Riley found to be glass as well, to the glass that was already on the table. An amber colored liquid flowed smoothly from mouth to rim with a moist babble until the glass on the table was about four ounces full of the potent liquor that Riley could smell from where he was. Thugnificent moved to the other side of the table and placed his own glass down, pouring a bit for himself. When the man was done, he set the squat bottle down away from him and looked across to Riley, picking up the drinking glass as he did.

"Drink up lil' nigga. Dat shit is guaranteed ta put some hair on dat bird chest 'ah yours."

Riley regarded the honey-colored liquid settling in the glass before him, suddenly scared to death.

"Uh, I don't think I should drink that…"

"Boy, shut da fuck up an' drink dat shit." Riley couldn't tell if it was a command or not. There was so much of it, and he didn't even know what it was. Gingerly he reached out and took the glass into his right hand, bringing it up to his nose.

Jesus, it smelled like pure gasoline, the scent of it wafting in his nostrils, making his eyes water.

"W-wut is it?"

"Crown Royal."

Crown Royal, eh? Riley had heard of this before, seen ads for it on T. V. and in magazines. Hell, he'd seen it plenty of times on the numerous mini-bars that were scattered through Thugnificent's excessively large house, but he had never once been offered it, let alone expected to drink it.

"You gunna tell me that I poured that for nuthin?" He had asked after Riley took too long. The question itself wasn't angry—but rather, full of cruel expectation…like an abusive parent. Riley could feel the man's eyes heavy on him, waiting. And how could he not obey? This was Thugnificent's house, and Riley had come at his command like a good little dog—a well-trained pup. And now again was the next command, to drink. Now it wasn't like Riley never tasted the awful and hot stinging bite of alcohol--out of curiosity once not too long ago, mostly of ignorance. He had sunk a bit of Granddad's brandy while he was busy entertaining one of his many internet met travesties. This was different however, this was put upon him.

And he took it into his mouth, like a poison. Hell it was just a drink, but there was a great deal more to it then just that. He was giving something up just then…he didn't know what yet—something important to be sure—and he could feel that it was gone. Forcing down the liquid fire, Riley nearly gagged and tried not to sputter as the liquor seared his insides. Somewhere in his reeling, he heard Thugnificent's laughter, mocking.

"Wuzuh'madda Riz? Cain't handle it?"

"Man, dis shit nasty!" Riley blanched, brows still knotted together.

"Well, sounds like a personal problem ta me. Finish it."

Riley grimaced. All of it? He'd parish from the taste alone, and here he was having to take it straight, and at room temperature no less. Nothing to break it up—no ice, no chaser, not even a cracker to soak some of it up. Just pure Canadian whisky.

Glass still in hand, Riley returned it to his mouth for another go. When his lip met the rim, he could feel his esophagus twitch in apprehension. How could adults pay to drink this stuff? Pushing the thought away, he tipped his head back more earnestly. It was when the strong and desperately bitter liquor branded his tongue for the second time did he realize his error. He was allowing the whiskey to remain in his mouth. If he had simply tossed it back, then his poor, ravaged taste buds might have missed most of the brunt of that savage assault on his senses. Then again, how the hell would he have known that? He was eight for Christ's sake!

Once the glass was drained, he let his top lip curl tightly over the surface of his baby teeth as the heat of the whisky rushed to force his young body into possesses reserved for crowds more his senior. He felt flush for a moment as he returned the glass to the table. The taste in Riley mouth nearly escaped description; it was like he had gargled an astringent. In those few seconds, he made it up in his mind to never drink for pleasure, it was too terrible.

"See, it wun't so bad, now was it?"

Riley wanted to tell the man across the table what he could shove and how many ways he could shove it—but instead replied simply, "it ain't fa'me I don't think, but its a'ight." A lie of course, but it would do.

"Now, I'm sure you're wonderin' why I asked you ta come here. I want to talk to you for awhile without interruption."

Riley could feel the unease tighten in his chest, though it must not have been apparent yet because the rapper kept going.

"You've always lived in Illinois, right?"

"Yeah."

"Have you always lived in Woodcrest?"

Riley's answer was slow and cautious, despite the heat that was spreading through his abdomen. There were times when Riley felt like he could trust Thugnificent, and other times he couldn't…now was one of those latter times. "Naw, I was livin' in Chicago when me an' my brother was littler. We moved out here wit Granddad a while back."

"Wut was it like, livin' in da Chi?"

Riley's voice became lower, his already waning confidence now tissue thin. "We got along."

"You got along," the man echoed. "Really?"

Riley couldn't stand it—what the hell was he getting at? He wanted to tell him just to spit it the fuck out, but Riley certainly knew better than that.

Thugnificent readjusted himself in his chair. "Have you seen dat T.V. special a'mine, Rags ta Bitches?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sure den you saw just wut kinda shit I was comin' up wit. Was livin' where you was livin' anything like dat?"

What was this, some kind of pissing contest? "No, well, I mean dat it wun't all duh way like dat. Yeeh there was drugs an' all, an' shootin' too. Das partaduh reason we came out here. Our family thought it wun't good back where we was."

"And you should be grateful for that." Thugnificent said clearly. "Yuh see Riley, ain't nobody jus come up ta me when I was your age an' say 'hey, Terra-Belle ain't da bes' place for ah lil' man—les move you out ta Crackerville wit a nice big house an' a good school ta go to'. Naw dat shit ain't happen fuh me at all. I had ta grind anythang an' errathang ta get here on da same street dat has been so graciously handed tuh you on uh silver fuckin' platter."

If Riley didn't know any better he'd say Thugnificent was bitter, although the tone in his voice didn't hint at this. Thugnificent leaned forward again, resting his arms on the table, threading his fingers together as he did.

"What I'm gettin' at here Riley is dat you are in debt ta me. I don't know if you've forgotten this lil' incidental or not, but it is da chief reason why you are in my house at half passed one in da mornin' drinkin my whisky."

Riley felt his mouth drop open a bit as the words fell on him. Debt what debt?

"Judgin' by the slack in yo jaw, clearly you need ta be reminded. Allow me ta jog yo memory. Some months back, you informed me that you'd be corrallin' ah number ah hoes for my most recent T.V. spot. If you recall, I had ta come outta my pocket for pimped hoes after you told me the night before filmin' that errathang was 'all good'. You think I forgot about that shit Riley Freeman?" Thugnificent's last words came crisp and enunciated—making it sound all the more threatening.

Riley felt his blood freeze in his veins. Was that it? A matter of five grand? The man was a fuckin millionaire and he was milling over a few thousand dollars?

"Well damn Nificent! I'm just a kid! Wuddaya want me ta do? I cain't get dat money back, I'm sorry!"

Thugnificent's face remained placid in spite of the whine that came from the child across from him. "I never said that you'd come up wit da cheese, I know better than ta expect dat from you. But I do remember me saying somethin' about me takin' it outta yo ass."

Riley's mind quickly flashed back to the night the T.V. spot was filmed, and how big Thugnificent's hand had seemed when it was balled up in his shirt.

"Wuddaya mean? Wutchu want me ta do?"

"I'm glad you asked." The man said as he got up from his seat, holding his wrists behind his back and walking. "Lil' nigga, there are things dat go on in da undacurrents dat people don't know about. Da shit's always been there, like in Woodcrest for example. There ain't no way in hell dat this lilywhite breadbox gets along so nicely witout somethin' flowin' beneath it--things dat kind-minded people don't like ta think go on in their perfect lil town."

Riley felt hot, small and displaced. He could feel his gangly limbs grow odd and his fingers become strange. "Wutchu talkin' bout Nificent?"

"Oh, I think your brother might undastand. He seem like uh deep lil nigga." The comment was accompanied by a nonchalant glance in Riley's direction.

"Hol' up, why would Huey know anything? Why he gotta come up?" Riley questioned, suddenly alarmed at the mention of his brother.

Thugnificent chuckled a bit. "My bad Riz—didn't mean ta get abstract on ya." The rapper said, dismissing the ruffled feathers of the child. "But like I was saying, shit is always movin' jus below da surface of things we know. Its also part of da reason you're here. You my lil nig, are goin' ta sink below dat surface for ah lil while an' ride dat undacurrent. I've got uh mission fuh you."

By now the heat in Riley's abdomen had spread completely through him as the alcohol in his blood rivered through his slight frame with every successive heartbeat. He blinked tight his eyes as he solicited the rapper. "A mission? Like wut?"

"Don't worry bout it. You ain't quite all da way ready for it. Get ready ta train lil nigga, you've been gettin' outta practice."

Train? No, not now…everything seemed fuzzy to him, too clouded for that. Damn, was this what it was like to get toasted? No, maybe not toasted, buzzed. That was the word for it. Hell, Riley might have thought that the feeling was kind of neat it weren't be overshadowed by such unpleasant things.

"Getcho ass downstairs, we got alotta work ta do." He heard Thugnificent say. Fine. If this was the only way he could be rid of the 'debt' Thugnifcent put over his head and get back to a more normal pre-adolescent life, then so be it.

..oo..

It was about half passed four when Riley crept back into the house, taking care to be as quiet as possible. When he made his way to the bathroom, he closed the door and slid down its wooden frame to the floor. Ahh, he could feel the coolness of the tile seep through to the seat of his pants—it was most forgiving, unlike the unrelenting bite of Thugnificent's concrete basement. Maybe it was the ambiance of the bathroom, with its polished oak finishes, decorative paintings, ivory porcelains and rounded edges. It was a man's bathroom—masculine yet respectfully refined, like an old scholar's study. Sure his grandfather's choice of underwear might have suggested otherwise, but it was clear that when the bathroom was decorated, Granddad's taste in male elegance laid quietly in every corner of the space.

Riley let his rest on the door at his back as his mind continued to swim with the night's occurrences. His body was tired, heavy and hurting from the punishment he had taken from the training. Punch after punch. Block after kick after dodge after block. The buzz he had earlier had bled away through the adrenaline that had rushed to replace it. Thugnificent had been fierce but cold. There was something in his eyes the entire time that Riley could never place, couldn't tell if it was angry, vengeful or something else entirely. He looked down at his shirt, observing the blood that spackled it. How did that get there again? Oh yeah, his head. Somehow he found the strength to raise bruised fingertips to somewhere passed his hairline. He could feel the dried blood coating some of the wayward strands of hair that dodged the confines of his cornrows. Riley couldn't exactly recall what caused the injury, but he did vaguely remember it throbbing more than outright hurting. He also recalled being quite surprised to find he hadn't noticed as the blood flowed down the side of his face—he had thought he was merely sweating. Riley had wiped the side of his temple with the back of his hand in a flash to quickly return it for a block. In a blur of punches, he had finally taken notice of the large stroke of drying blood that painted his arm. He remembered pausing to wonder where it had come from. This however had been a mistake because Thugnificent had taken advantage of the unguarded moment to knock the lithe but incredibly slender boy down to the hard concrete.

"I'll trust you know not ta do dat silly shit again." Was all the man said while Riley picked himself up, the boy noting the meager splatter of his blood on the floor.

Riley wanted to stand up from his grandfather's bathroom floor, but his body, though somewhat able, simply did not want to. Riley supposed it would be alright to stay there for a few moments longer, just so he could collect some strength.

..oo..

His eyes flew open with a snap as the halfhearted beep of his piss-poor digital watch. Fuck, it was six o'clock! He knew he should have gotten up off the damn floor! Now he was pressed seeing as that Granddad always awoke around this time and b-lined it for the bathroom. It was anyone's guess why the man didn't just use the master bath that was inside his own bedroom; Riley knew that he certainly would've. But whatever. He didn't have time to ponder such largely irrelevant things, he still had to shower, slip his bloodied shirt in the laundry and assess just how damaged he appeared. Riley figured he have a helluva time trying to explain away the wound in his hairline and his purple fingertips acquired between going to bed and waking up a few hours later.

Struggling to his feet, which took some calculated effort from being asleep on the bathroom floor, made it a point to lock the door. Quickly pulling off his soiled shirt, he took care to roll it in the bath towel that he'd be using to dry himself. It was unlikely that his brother or grandfather would force their way into the bathroom just to look at his clothes, but Riley didn't care—Thugnificent's training was beginning to fashion him into a person not willing to leave things to chance.

No sooner had Riley shut off the water did there come an agitated bang on the bathroom door.

"Boy, what the hell are you doing in there?! I've been waitin' for a whole damn hour! There prolly ain't ah'dropuh hot water left! Damnit Riley hurry the hell up! It ain't right ta keep an' ol man waitin' round like this!"

"I'm sorry Granddad, I'm almost done, jus' give me a few more minutes." Riley replied through the door wearily. Had he been in the shower that long? Just then, the little faint beep from his watch he had left on his pants sounded. Well, he guessed so. Somehow though, all the time spent in it did very little to revitalize him. Continuing to pat himself dry, Riley walked over to the sink and the mirror mounted above it. He hadn't bothered to look at himself since he returned home; his tired body and mind never attempted to make a pass at the thought. Scrutinizing his reflection, he leaned over the sink to observe the cut in his head. In the shower, he had made a point to not disturb the scab working to form over it—how strange it would have been to explain why his head was bleeding so freshly if he passed his grandfather in the hall.

Confident that he could survive a once over if it were given, he pulled open the medicine cabinet and collected the sports tape there and proceeded to wrap his purple and still swollen fingers; the less obvious the injuries, the better. After taking a few extra moments to brush his teeth, Riley quickly gathered the rest of his clothes, making sure his bloodstained shirt was thoroughly obscured. Not finding his grandfather in the hall, a pleasing discovery, Riley made his way, wrapped in the bath towel to the bedroom. Inside he found that Huey hadn't woken yet. Utilizing the assumed privacy, Riley allowed the bath towel to drop gracelessly around his feet, followed by his clothes which he promptly kicked under his bed. Moving to his set of drawers, he pulled a standard set of his bed clothes, a pair of boxers and a wifebeater, and put them on.

With a sigh more audible then he meant to make it, he returned to the lonely folds of his bed, feeling more tired somehow then when he was in the bathroom. God, his pillow was soft.

..oo..

Huey's eyes were slow to drag open upon hearing the soft snore of his younger brother. The fact that he woke up to it irritated him a bit, but then the feeling quickly went away. He looked across to his computer desk and the digital clock that was on it: 9:30. Sighing through his nose, he glanced up at the vinyl blinds that covered their windows. It was overcast it seemed; how ready Mother Nature was to match his mood. Sitting up, Huey tried to overlook the deep bruising that thrummed at his insides. He was really beginning to miss the merciful white pills that helped to numb the pain that stayed in his back and head.

It was Saturday, and it sucked. Huey couldn't remember the last time he felt so goddamn bored. He hadn't even been awake more than an few minutes and he was already incredibly irritable. The lack of activity that his injuries forced him into was nearly maddening. Huey looked back over to his slumbering brother and for a moment envied him. Not because he wasn't restricted by a disagreeable body, but because he was so easily entertained. Anybody who knew Huey Freeman knew that many of the normal pastimes of children his age did nothing to hold his attention. For that he had his books and his dreams of a neo-socialistic future built by his own hands—but after most of his survivable waking hours dedicated to his radical idealism, even he had to take a break from it.

Huey allowed himself to lie back on his pillow. Bone contusions, he had found, took months to heal. Moreover, they tended to be more painful then actual bone fractures. He had been told that he'd have to limit his movement as much as possible until the healing possess was complete—an idea that he wasn't very fond of.

Then there was Riley. Something had been up with his little brother for a while now and he still couldn't put his finger on it. Of course it was obvious that Riley was in mischief when he had been entangled in that fight on the science wing of the elementary school, but it had gone beyond that. Considerably, if Huey's intuition was correct, which it usually was. Still, it was unfair of him to accuse Riley so readily of wrong doing. He was a handful no doubt, and stirring up trouble was not uncommon for him. Huey supposed that his little brother, despite how different they were, was more like him than he was willing to admit. That being said, it would not be unrealistic if Riley really was hiding something. While Huey was not so wildly sage at the ripe old age of ten, he was much more skilled in controlling his emotions than his younger sibling. Now that he thought of it, he never had a reason to hide any of his agendas, mostly because people just considered Huey to have an imagination too politically vivid for his own good.

He and his brother were different yet.

He saw the tape on his brother's fingers. Some new fad he was sure Riley had fallen prey to…he was so damn malleable, and it worried Huey to no end how impressionable he found his brother to be. He had never been so easily influenced by everything media and all things mainstream had to offer. Huey supposed then that he was just a bit old school, like his grandfather, but with a contemporary and very pro-black twist.

Thugnificent.

The name forced a deep crease into Huey's young brow. At first he just figured the gangsta rapper to be nothing more than a loud, obnoxious, over-the-top flash-in-the-pan that most of the rappers nowadays amounted to be. It didn't help that Riley practically worshipped the man and spent most of his free time with him and his little band. Picking up all sorts horrible habits no doubt…damn he sounded old.

Huey only regretted that he couldn't intervene more. It was important for Riley to make his own mistakes, but at the same time, he had a responsibility to protect his brother from gross harm.

Then there was the fight—again with the fight! Huey just couldn't seem to clear his head. Hell, he wasn't even worried about what happened to him, or dare he say even Jazmine; no part of it could be undone. His chief concern was for Riley and for him to not be expelled from the school. It would be no big deal if Huey was cast out of the school system, he could pick up what he needed on his own—but Riley…Was it even fair for him to give so little credit to his brother? Sure he was a hellion in his own right but…

Huey hoped the hearing would go well in their favor. School was a welcome distraction for the both of them, no matter how they felt about it.

Climbing out of the bed, Huey shuffled around his brother's sleeping form on his way to the door. An endearing sigh fluttered in his throat as he paused to regard Riley. With some pained effort, he raised a tired hand to let it rest on Riley's exposed shoulder. He was so deep asleep the touch did not register, and he remained still. Blinking in his own weary way, Huey withdrew his hand and continued to the door. He loved his brother dearly and he'd be damned if he didn't tell him that more. There was a disconnection it seemed, between the two of them. Huey was never the type to be sentimental, and neither was Riley, but they were going to have to better than this. While he never thought about it before, he knew he didn't want them to be the kind of brothers who had grown so far apart that there was no feeling left between them. He'd be a good brother to Riley, even if it killed him.

"Don't worry Riley, I'll look after you. I promise." Were Huey's soft words to the sleeping child, then he was gone.

A/N: Alright! Hope you liked it! Review me; PLEASE tell me what you think on this one. It was an important chapter and I hope it came across a bit stronger than the others. Thanks again for everyone who is following this. It's my most dedicated fic and I take pleasure in writing it. Till next update!