~So I don't know when I'll get the chance to finish this, but I wanted to get this first part out there. You have my word that I will come back to it when I can. :)
Timeline: 8-10 years before the start of the series.~
1. Bouncer
Bouncer Beagle didn't want no trouble.
He was just tryin' to keep his brothers outta Ma's way. She'd been sick lately, and it was makin' her cranky – well, crankier than usual. Bouncer wasn't one to say bad things about his mother, not after all she'd done for him, but boy, did that woman have a temper!
So when she'd broken into a sobbing, screaming fit in the middle of fixin' their lunch that warm June day, Bouncer saw it as his duty to make sure nobody got on the wrong end of her cook-spoon. Or her fist. He was the biggest around, Bankjob being in Juvie and all, a fact that Ma complained about a lot, since that made it nearly impossible to keep him in clothes. She'd always counted on two older sons to give Bouncer hand-me-downs, but with Bigtime still in boys' size 6, it wasn't workin' out.
That mighta been part of what was tickin' her off today. Bouncer never knew for sure. But as the biggest, it fell on him to look after the littler ones. That was how the Beagle Boys had always done things.
Bigtime understood and ordered Burger to come with him. The two 'a' them usually wound up together, even though, from what Bouncer could tell, it always seemed to wind up with Burger gettin' all excited and squealin' too loud and Bigtime whackin' him over the head. But Bigtime's whacks were better than Ma's, and Bouncer knew he secretly liked their youngest brother, the little butterball. Bugle went with 'em.
That left Bouncer to entertain Baggy. It wasn't a job he minded much. They weren't supposed to like certain brothers better than others, but Baggy was definitely Bouncer's favorite of the family. Sweet kid, didn't talk much, and when he did, it was with a stutter like a stuck key on a typewriter. Loyal as a puppy dog and twice as clumsy, with his big ol' hangin' shirt sleeves and pants legs not makin' it any easier for him. Ya couldn't help but love him.
It had been that way ever since Baggy had entered the world. He'd been born – well, they had some fancy doctor-word for it, but Bouncer just knew it was a lot earlier than babies were supposed to be born. Nobody was quite sure why, though Bouncer knew Ma had sneaked a cig or two while she was pregnant with Baggy.
Whatever the case, Baggy had weighed only two pounds. Doctors weren't sure if he was gonna make it or not. Even now, Bouncer could remember seein' him in that big hospital, tinier than some of the duck babies he'd seen, all hooked up to tubes and wires and beepin' things. He was so helpless that he might just die if somebody coughed on him.
And so Bouncer was determined that nobody was ever gonna cough on him.
Baggy pulled through – sorta. He still wasn't as big as a thirteen-year-old shoulda been, carried no body fat except for around his belly, and got sick from every germ he sniffed. His back hunched, his legs were scrawny even for the rest of him, and, well, somethin' was wrong with his brain. The doctors had said "possible brain damage." Ma just said he was "the stupidest of a stupid lot."
Even though Ma was usually right, Bouncer believed the doctors over her. Sometimes, Baggy would just look at him, and Bouncer could see things goin' on behind those half-closed eyes. Not the "wheels turnin'" like Bigtime always talked about when he thought real hard – Bigtime knew cool figures 'a' speech like that – but just this sorta knowin'. Like maybe, 'cause he wasn't that smart, there was room in his brain for stuff most people didn't even pay attention to.
Bouncer hauled Baggy outta there now by one bony wrist. Ma was prettier'n anything when she smiled – even if it was one 'a' those sly, squinty types 'a' smiles – but that snake-eyed look, the one she had right now, always meant it was time to scoot butt.
They left the hideout behind and let the silence fall across them. Bouncer wasn't a super-great talker – not like Bigtime – but 'a' course Baggy didn't care none, him bein' even worse, so the two of 'em had learned to talk in ways that didn't need words. Like the way Baggy slipped his gloved paw into Bouncer's and looked up at him as if he'd built Scrooge McDuck's money bin all by himself. The squeak of Bouncer's too-small sneakers and the fumbling of Baggy tripping over his untied shoelaces were the only sounds 'till they got to a narrow alley without any broken beer bottles.
It was the unofficial barrier 'tween the people in Duckburg who had to steal to survive and the ones who had stuff worth stealin'. It was classy enough that somebody kept it pretty clean – garbage cans pulled to the sides, litter swept away after a couple days – but you could still smell this sorta stale smell, like a bus had just driven by and belched a lotta gray smoke out while it was there. Bouncer wouldn't'a dreamed of actually crossing that barrier into the nicer part of Duckburg, not without a plan. In other words, not without Bigtime.
"So, Bags." Bouncer broke the silence. "Whattya wanna play today?"
Baggy's eyes shimmered, just shimmered, the way they always did when somebody let 'im make his own choice. His lower lip pulled out of the sag it always hung in and puckered in thought for about two minutes. It took Baggy longer to think than most people. Bouncer was used to it.
"Da, c-c-can we b-b-b-b-be superheroes?" Baggy finally said.
Bouncer felt himself burst into the biggest grin he'd managed all day. "Sure we can!" He cuffed Baggy lightly on the shoulder. "What powers ya got, Super-Baggy?"
Baggy shut his eyes and rocked forward on his toes, arms extended to the sides. You coulda paid a month's rent with the pride on his face, as far as Bouncer was concerned. "I think," he said in his usual far-off voice, "I can fly."
"Great power!" Bouncer gave 'im a thumbs-up. "Now – how's about me? Should I be invisible or invincible or whatever that t'ing's called?"
Baggy gave a cheerful shrug. "You can b-b-be super-super-super-str-str-strong."
It was the kinda talk that normally woulda puffed Bouncer's chest up somethin' fierce, but this was his last half-good shirt. Ma woulda, as Bigtime put it, bit his head off if he busted another one. She wouldn't really have done that, but there'd be pain involved, no doubt about it.
"And today, Super-Baggy and Super-Bouncer are savin' da woild from giant killer…" Bouncer glanced at Baggy, who shrugged again. "…slugs," Bouncer finished.
Baggy giggled. Geez, Bouncer loved that sound. Right up there with a safe finally clickin' open.
"Dose slugs have waited a long time for dis moment," Bouncer said. "Dey been plannin'. But dey didn't plan on…Super-Baggy!"
Bouncer hoisted Baggy up by the waist, lifted 'im over his head, and swung Baggy back-n-forth real slow. "Whoopee," Baggy said, and even though it weren't no louder than anything else he'd ever said, ya could tell he was excited.
"Faster dan a speedin' police car," Bouncer said. "More powerful dan a hand grenade. DUNT DA DA. . . Super-Baggy!"
As soon as Bouncer set Baggy back down, Baggy pointed his arms out from his sides and ran around in a circle. "Whoosh, whoosh," he said. The wind caught at his hand-me-down sleeves and almost turned 'em into real wings.
"And his loyal sidekick, Super-Bouncer," Bouncer said, and he didn't need to flex to show off the muscles that were already crowdin' his clothes.
Baggy clapped.
From then on, the two 'a' them fought off giant killer slugs with strength, speed, and pretend weapons. Bouncer remembered hearin' somewheres that slugs shriveled up and died when you hit 'em with salt, so he made that his main weapon and bumped off slugs with the grossest, most satisfying slug-squash noises he could manage. Baggy was a good audience – he kept throwin' his hands in the air and saying, "Ka-blam. Gotcha," around his dopey grin.
Whole thing made Bouncer think of that show that used to be on Duckburg's local TV station. What was the name 'a' that thing?
Super Frog and Friends, that was it. Man, he hadn't thought about that show in ages. He and Baggy watched it together the summer that Baggy was four. Every day 'cept for the weekends, Bouncer would hike Baggy up onto his back and then tumble 'im onto the filthy rug they kept pulled out in front of the TV. It was the perfect show to watch, 'cuz it came on right at Burger's naptime. Whenever ya tried to watch a show when Burger was awake, he'd run in circles around the room, in front of the screen, and flap his arms and scream the whole time.
Not Baggy. He'd just stare droopy-eyed at the screen, fingers in his mouth. But you could tell he liked it because he'd break into a drooly grin every now 'n' then or give Bouncer a hug at random. Sometimes he still did that one. Back then, the kid was still as silent as the day he was born – and he'd stay that way for another six months before he finally said Bouncer's name.
Now they bashed imaginary slugs and sucker-punched a few robots that Baggy threw in just 'cuz he loved Bouncer's robot-bustin' moves….until, finally, there was just the Evil King Slug left to take out.
Bouncer struck a pose with one leg thrust forward. "What'cha think, Super-Bags?" he asked. "Should I drop a safe on his head, or should ya fly up and punch him in the nose?"
Baggy sucked his lips together 'till he had almost no cheeks at all. "I th-think," he finally said, "we, we, we, should do it to-together."
It sounded like togevfer.
Bouncer hid a grin. "Okey-doke, kid. Let's go!" He pretended to heft one of Scrooge McDuck's reinforced-steel safes up into his arms and then heave it at an invisible Giant Slug King, right where the top 'a his gunky head would be.
Baggy followed it up with a clumsy fake-punch. "Ka-bop," he said, all confident, the way people talked in courtrooms, like they couldn't possibly ever be wrong about nothin'.
The Slug King exploded with a spread of Bouncer's fingers and a giant splatting noise out the side 'a' his mouth.
Then there was silence.
A bad kind 'a' silence. When you were a Beagle, you learned pretty early to tell between real silence and the tiny difference in the air when people were just tryin' to hold their breaths and tiptoe. That second one was what Bouncer heard now.
He turned around, and there were a couple other kids at the ally's entrance. Not ducks, not chickens – geese, maybe. Teenagers, closer to his age than Baggy's. Rich. Not McDuck-level rich, but obviously not hurtin' for dough, either, with neatly cropped feathercuts, shirts with collars, and pants that had obviously been ironed last week at the latest. Bouncer suddenly felt like a giant glob in his jeans that ended four inches above his ankles and the ball cap so grimy nobody could tell if it was supposed to be green or not.
The bigger, older-lookin' goose's beak curled up at the sides, as if somethin' stunk. Bouncer was kinda used to that. Him and Baggy, their black masks made it pretty plain that they were Beagles. Everybody in Duckburg was aware that the whole family would just as soon rob ya blind as look atcha, that even a baby Beagle knew how to shake ya down for pocket change.
And, ta to be honest, they didn't always smell that great.
Bouncer stepped in front of Baggy right away, same as he always did. Bigtime had a fancy word for that, too – Bouncer didn't remember it, but it had to do with knowin' something the way a spider knows how to spin a web.
"We know who you are," the bigger kid said.
Bouncer didn't answer.
"Yeah, you're little Beagle Boys," said the smaller one. Even though his fists were doubled at his sides, somethin' about his face seemed afraid.
Bouncer raised both arms in the air. "Hey, we don't want no trouble," he said. "You guys just stay over dere, and we'll stay over here, okay? We'll leave ya alone."
For a second, Bouncer thought it might work, standin' there with his hands lifted the way Bigtime had taught him to do if he ever ended up too close to a copper's gun. Just like the rest 'a' him, his voice had gotten a lot bigger in the last six months. It made a big rumble as it traveled down the alley toward those rich kids, and Bouncer watched 'em squirm once it ran into 'em.
The bigger one squirmed more, and then he tightened up harder like he hated himself for it. "Really?" he says. "Really? Is that how you guys got your rap sheets, by leaving people alone?"
The words nipped at the base of Bouncer's neck. He cranked his jaw and stared down hard at the wood shavings by his feet. He weren't no good at that snappy thing that Bigtime called "banter." One 'a' the reasons Bouncer wasn't the boss.
A big old explosion-laugh came outta the smaller kid. He slithered out from behind his bigger friend…or brother, more likely. They stood together like brothers, the littler one checkin' to be sure he was safe in the bigger one's shadow before he opened his bratty mouth and laughed even louder.
Bouncer swung his arm around behind 'im and didn't feel nothin'. No pouchy fabric, no sticky warmth.
Just empty air.
His entire chest did a jumpin' jack.
Baggy – that kid who couldn't sneak to save his hide – had snuck out from behind Bouncer and turned to the rich geese-kids. When he said, "Oh, hello," it was all polite and didn't care a bit that it came out as "hewwo." One whole arm swept up-'n'-down in a wave, and he was smilin', 'a' course, always smilin'.
The rich kids stared a minute or two with their beaks danglin' open. Bouncer dashed forward, but in between his footsteps, he saw the kids look Baggy over – from the sandy hair that always looked like a squashed cotton ball puffin' over his forehead to the toothpicky legs that trembled above his untied shoelaces. They eyed him the way a Beagle would eye a bank vault.
"Stay back, Bags," Bouncer said. Now it was like someone was pullin' out each tiny little hair on the back 'a' his neck, one by one. He wasn't sure how he was even able to talk.
Didn't dim Baggy's grin any. "Wh-why?" he asked. "Why, Bouncer?"
"'Cuz dese guys –"
It was the smaller kid who interrupted, to Bouncer's surprise. "What's wrong with this one?" His finger shook a little as he aimed it at Baggy.
Baggy still smiled and rocked back 'n' forth.
Not a dadgum thing, Bouncer thought. His arm came back out and slammed down in front 'a' Baggy. "You keep away from 'im!" That voice wasn't a rumble. It was a roar, passed down from Ma and carved outta all them visits to the free clinic and all them nights sprintin' away from the law with Baggy's sticky weight slung across his shoulders.
"Wh-why?" asked the bigger kid in a mean imitation of Baggy. "Why, Bouncer?"
He spewed Bouncer's name like it was a cuss word. It was the complete opposite of the way Baggy'd just said it, so tender and awestruck you mighta thought he was prayin'.
"Come near 'im and I'll rip yer beaks off," Bouncer said. He held out his fist. The knuckles were big and bulgy like the brass weapons he'd seen on World's Most Wanted once.
Neither kid took another step forward, but they sneered to beat all. "Yikes, what happened to him?" the smaller one said again.
"Probably breathed too much trailer exhaust," the bigger one said without a pause or nothin'. His laugh was cold and stiff as an icicle.
Bouncer was one big ugly welt inside by now. The trailer park on the other fringes of Duckburg was actually a step up from where they were livin' now, but he wasn't about to let some fancy prep kids know that. He scraped the ground with the toe of one boot and growled low in his throat. "Get lost," he said. "Turn around. Walk away. Now."
"What do you think we are, stupid?" the smaller kid said. "You don't turn your back on a Beagle."
"Den walk backwards! I don't care, long as you get the heck outta here!" Bouncer said.
The smaller kid's hand, still shaky, went to his hip pocket. Probably he had some dough stashed away in there, but right now Bouncer couldn'ta been less interested in some rich brat's allowance. "Should we go?" he asked his big brother. It was almost a whisper.
"I wouldn't mind," the bigger kid said. "Who wants to hang out in some crummy alley with a bunch of scum anyway?"
He slit a look at Bouncer to show he wasn't talkin' 'bout that stuff kids like that never even had to scrape off the sides of their own pools. Bouncer couldn't tell if the kid hoped they'd be smart enough to get it or not.
Didn't hardly bother him, though. He'd been called a lot worse. Them kids was getting outta here, and that was all that mattered.
As he walked 'em back away, Bouncer folded his arms over his chest hard enough to knock a grunt outta himself.
Everything sped up quicker'n a dynamite fuse then. Baggy made a half circle around the brats and stood on the other side 'a' them with his arms locked across his own chest. His grin was all lazy, but he was standin' as straight as that crooked little spine would let 'im.
What was he doin'? Where in the world did he get the idea to –
The kids backed away from Baggy. Their faces were wadded up messes of somethin' Bouncer didn't have a name for, somethin' that cringed back as if Baggy – Baggy, who'd barely even ever taken a swat at a mosquito – was gonna pull a Colt outta his too-big sleeves and come after 'im with it.
"Bags – stop," Bouncer tried to say. But his words were too big and stumbled all over themselves, just like his feet.
And that was when things went into slow motion. Like the film strips did when they wanted to be more dramatic. The bigger kid's hands sprang out from his chest in tiny slow steps and landed after so long on Baggy's chest with a smack that bruised Bouncer's eardrums.
"Get out of the way, retard," the kid said.
Baggy stumbled backward, caught his shoe in his own pant leg, and landed with a couple bounces on the seat 'a' his pants.
Bouncer saw the color run outta his own fingers. Then the fingers were folded up, and there was a fist, and he was plantin' it in the bigger kid's snooty beak.
In the most painful way he knew how.