The plane touched down in Seattle at ten thirty that night. Dominic had slept for about an hour before waking and ordering an Italian soda, resisting his instinct to grab some vodka. As he exited the airplane and entered the terminal, he saw that his mother had done as he had asked. He saw a huge banner with the words FREDWARD BENSON on it, and underneath was the psycho looking aunt that he had only seen twice in his life, on both occurances when he was only six. Thank God she wouldn't recognize him, he shuttered, thinking twice about what he should have done. Maybe he could just rent a Hilton for five years…they did have those long term suites that came with daily room service…he shook his head. A thirteen year old with endless money living alone might be what the Mafia would be looking for. Silently, he wished he had just dealt with José, but he trudged foreward, going slightly to the side and pass his crazy aunt and grabbing a Coke at a Dairy Queen that was right behind her. Draining it, he gave himself another refill and went to the bathroom, ordered some fries and McDonalds, and only then (and after another Coke) did he finally meet up with his aunt, whom looked at him and began to cry.

"Oh, Fredward!" she said, crying and collapsing on him.

Fuck, he thought as he was almost dragged to her car and drove to the apartment complex that must have been an upgrade from when he had last seen her. What have I gotten myself into?

Freddie was driving while the rest slept in the rented Prius. He had stopped at a gun shop that didn't ask for proof of age or parental approval to pick up a few things, then a gas station to take a leak and pack up on alcohol. Knowing Jason, he would need plenty of booze to keep him from killing José that night.

Spencer stirred in the passenger seat. Freddie looked at him for a second, then eyes darting almost directly back to the road. Damn elk and antelope and deer.

"What's going on, Fred-o?" Spencer asked groggily.

"Got another few hours till we get there," Freddie replied offering Spencer a bottle. He took it and popped the top, throwing it on the floor. About half way through the bottle, he declared, "Jesus, my tolerance is low,"

Freddie laughed. "Try being used to a vodka in the morning, then moving to Seattle, the wettest city on earth. Water, water everywhere, but not a fifth to drink."

Spencer laughed quietly, draining the rest of his beer in what Freddie guessed was an attempt to show that he was man enough for one beer.

"Save the bottle," Freddie said. "I have a feeling that Jason and Henry are going to want them for the future."

Spencer nodded, putting the glass container carefully on the floor. He looked up and asked Freddie, "So, these kids that were your friends…well…if you were into computer hacking….what were your friends into?"



Freddie smiled. "Everything. Jason had been in boot camp since he was five until his militaristic father died in Iraq, first day that Bush signed the order. Henry had gotten into the gun thing from his dad, who was only a hunter. Which I guess his son did become a hunter…of sorts…"

Spencer nodded, his booze clouded mind taking a second to process the information so that his intoxicated self could understand it. "He's a hitman."

Freddie nodded. "One of the best in LA. Of course, only a few know about him. He plans on going full scale once he turns twenty and has a few more jobs under his belt."

"What's his kill count?" Spencer slurred.

Freddie turned to him and then again had to dart his eyes to the road to prevent a possible four legged mammal hit and run. "What the hell? Kill count?"

"How many…" Spencer had to stop and think of the word. "People…peoples…persons…guys…girls…little dogs…has he killed with the…thing?"

Freddie rolled his eyes and silently scolded himself for giving an emotional underage person a beet. "Last time I heard two years ago, he had seventy six notches."

"Notches?"

"You know…notches in the stock of the rifle? It's from Red Dawn. That one guy-" But when Freddie turned, Spencer was already in an alcohol induced lullaby and was snoring gently. Checking in the rear view mirror, he saw that the girls were still asleep, even while he turned south of I90 onto a dirt road and silently had a party that he only had about fifty more miles until he was at the farm.

When the Shays and Sam opened their eyes, they were parked in the middle of a well kept green lawn near a house that also seemed well kept. There were three huge, silver silos that sat next to each other, fields, and of course, a giant red barn that was only about a hundred feet from the house. Almost as soon as they had opened their eyes, a guy about Sam and Carly's age with longish, untidy blond hair jumped off the roof and rolled on the ground, laughing as he got up and walked passed the car. Another guy their age, with shorter, darker hair popped his head out the window, yelling and laughing. All of a sudden, the blonde dude started to yell and run.

"Ow, fuck! Dammit, Dom! Stop it! I get it! Fuck!"

Freddie was on top of the roof with a real looking sniper rifle in his hands. He was laughing as well as he shot another round off. There was a small pop that no one had noticed until they were focusing on it and the blonde guy screamed, clutching his ass and limping behind that car.

"Fuck you, Dom!" the blonde guy said, risking to pop his head and middle finger up from behind the safety of the car.



"Better keep that finger behind the rental, or I'll plink it off, Jason!" Freddie called, grinning, but handing the air rifle down to the other guy, who had to be Henry and climbing down and rolling off the roof. As he walked passed the rental to go make peace with his long time friend in crime, he noticed that his Seattle friends were awake.

"Yeah, your friends are awake!" Jason said, getting up and looking at his ass. "The ones you wouldn't shoot at with a fucking supped up air rifle." He gave Freddie a friendly shove then knocked on the window of the car. "Come on out. No ones gonna shoot you." He gave Freddie a look, then grinned. "You're an ass. I'll get you back. Remember that." He turned back towards Carly and Sam. "And if you'll excuse me, ladies, I need to check if I have a Raptor pellet in my left ass." He bowed and limped off into the house, leaving Freddie laughing.

"So…" Sam asked, as amused as Freddie. "You shoot people in the morning with air rifle?"

Freddie grinned. "We were playing quarters and he lost. Henry went and got the air rifle…"

Carly rolled her eyes, not as impressed with the display as Sam or Spencer. "So it's not your fault that you could cause that nice kid an ass infection?"

Freddie started to laugh even harder as did Henry. "An ass infection?" Henry called down, grinning. "Should I suggest that be what Jason look for? Can you describe the symptoms?"

Carly blushed deeply, and Freddie smirked, grabbing her by the shoulder and leading her towards the house. "Hey, Henry, why don't you get down here and introduce yourself?"

Henry obliged by rolling out the window and landing on his feet right in front of Carly. He turned his fall into a bow and took Carly's hand and kissed it. "Hello, there," he said in a perfect southern drawl. "My name be Henry Hancock. Please, don't give me no shit about it, I've had to put up with it my whole life." He smiled.

"Henry, in light of his particular hunting hobby, thought that he required to know a bit of parkour in order to help get away from what might be hunting him." Freddie said with a straight face. "Why don't you give us a little demonstration?"

Henry obliged with a double donkey Kong over the hood of the Prius and a wall flip on one of the brick pillars that decorated the porch. He landed and back flipped, twisting through the air so that he once again faced Carly in a bow. "Madame," he said, taking her hand once more. She giggled shyly.

"Why don't you two go get to know each other." Freddie suggested, gesturing towards the house.

"Of course, Dom. You always know what to do. That's why your boss." He escorted Carly inside in the old southern Civil war manner, turning his head a mouthing Thank you! Before opening the door for Carly and stepping in.

Spencer turned to Freddie, unsure of what just went on in the last three minutes. He was, of course, still trying to wipe away the evidence of what could be a very mild hang over off, but he was doing a bad job 

at it considering his staggering and fuzzy mumblings. Freddie grinned. "You'll get used to it," he said, grabbing his bag and heading into the house. Unsure of what else to do, Spencer grabbed his bag and ran up, trying to keep up with Freddie.

Just fifteen minutes later, Spencer was the only one surprised to find himself out in the field with a shotgun in his hands and clay disks flying in front of his face. "What the hell?" he screamed, shooting at them and falling on his ass in the process. Jason and Freddie rushed over, along with someone he hadn't met yet.

"Oh my freaking God!" Spencer yelled, dropping the shotgun and rubbing his shoulder. Freddie and Jason laughed, and so did pretty much everyone except the new guy, who checked out the pretty much immediate bruising with care.

"Not too bad," the guy said, getting up and wincing at the firecracker pops that his knees made.

Freddie seemed slightly concerned. "Damn, Doc, got old in the last two years?"

Doc apparently thought this was funny and laughed along. "I think your friend is having some kind of minor hang over."

"After one beer…almost ten hours ago?"

"My tolerance is…low…" Spencer said, falling again into sleep.

Freddie rolled his eyes and picked up the shotgun the Spencer had dropped. Pushing the action forward, ejecting the shell, then pulling it back, he said, "Pull." While he was still walking to the spray painted white line in the grass where Spencer had been pushed back a decent ways by the 12 gauge. The clay pigeon screamed in front of his face and he shot at it, dead center, completely destroying it and sending chunks and fragments everywhere. "This is two easy, plus shotgun accuracy is retarded," he said. "Let's move on to sniper school."

Freddie laid the shotgun down on the egg foam that was spread on the table and picked up a .270 Winchester bolt action. "Everyone who knows what they're doing get over on this side," he said, gesturing towards his sides. Carly and Sam were stuck facing the three guys (and Spencer, who was leaning against the tree sleeping).

Jason snatched the rifle away from Freddie and began to fire off questions. "What's this?" he asked, pointing to the magazine.

Carly looked completely shocked at this way of teaching, but Sam immediately responded. "Magazine."

"And this?"

"Bolt."

"This?"



"Muzzle."

"This?"

"Back reticule."

"This?"

"Barrel."

Jason turned to Freddie with a shocked look on his face. "Dude, I think I just jizzed my pants. Your girlfriends is hot and knows the parts to a fucking rifle."

Freddie just smiled. "What till you see her in hand to hand combat."

Jason backed away from the girl in particular, a scared look on his face. "Fuck, dude. Keep this hot-yet crazy- bitch away from me."

"I want her closer to me, anyway," Freddie said, stepping forward and kissing Sam.

A/N: I don't really know how this chapter turned out. If it sucked, sorry. I'll try to make it better on the next one. Um…it seems that whenever I write bitch in a story, and refer it to a fictional female character, I get flames by feminist groups that find that offending, so I would like to say something if that is the case: FUCK YOURSELF. Feminism, when it applies to real life scenarios, is fine and I agree with it to an extent where it isn't man hating, but when you hate me for referring to a fictional female as bitch, that's just trying to run me over with your menstrual cycle. And I'm pretty good at dodging that, so yeah…sorry just a little rant. Needed to put that out there. Sorry if it offends. GO FEMINISM (to an extent…). But as for polygamy and incest…NO. LOL. Alrighty, bye guys.