Brew city-Underground

Chapter 3- Mom's home

"Get outta here." Duncan slammed the yellow door shut, the rusted taxi driving off. Looking down, Duncan saw the dirty crumbled burger wrappers and sticky smashed soda cup he dragged with him when he left the taxi. Kicking them in a huff, Duncan felt a wave of pain wash over him, so intense it was hard to breath. Holding his side as he caught his breath, Duncan sighed, flicking off the rotted banana peel from his shoulder. God how long was that there. "Ugh, the cab was covered in more garbage than me."

Turning to his side, Duncan looked down the block of the neighborhood and saw his family home. Sighing again, Duncan took a deep breath as he tried his best to walk over without a limp or any sign of injury. Duncan would like to believe that he did, but it was pretty obvious something was wrong with him. If for no other reason than how long it took him to walk one end of the block to the other. Standing on the sidewalk in front of the house driveway, Duncan looked up at his house.

It was a Victorian era two story house with big attic, a two vehicle garage attached to the side. It had a faded green paint job, the same color as Duncan's eyes, faded dollar bills. It was the same design as the rest of the houses on the block, only the paint job was different. The only thing that made the Thatch family home stick out was the color of the front door, jet black.

Even though it wasn't dusk yet, Duncan could see more than a few of the lights were on through the windows. Looking over, Duncan could see through the open garage that the pitch black Pick-up in it. So at the very least one of his parents was home. Duncan groaned to himself. He really didn't want to explain why he looked like he was just tossed out of a dump. Crouching down, Duncan took another look at the house windows, seeing which rooms had the lights on, so he could figure out the best ways to sneak in.

Before he could though, Duncan swung around to the street as he heard someone honking at him and cursed under his breath as a car headed straight for him. It was an old lime green sedan, probably not even going ten miles an hour. The guy behind the wheel looked a little over Duncan's age, well developed shoulders and arms were visible under the green hoody he was wearing. His dark raven black hair neatly combed over to the side, his faded emerald eyes locked on to Duncan's own, a smug grin on his face as he honked one last time.

Taking a breath in, Duncan jumped best he could to miss the car's front bumper, only to land on the car's green hood and slam into the wind shield. Duncan had his eyes shut tight, his body into a fetal position, his head protected by his arms. Not unlike earlier that day during the beating. The car abruptly stopped, sending Duncan sliding off the sleek metal hood and into the sturdy wall of the garage and landing on the cold hard cement floor.

Pain erupted throughout Duncan's body. Throbbing horribly to every spot Duncan was hit and beaten that day and more. His vision dazed as he saw spots everywhere, Duncan's head feeling like it was trying to crack open. The worst was his front. Duncan's chest was convulsing, his lungs frozen, trying desperately to breath. Duncan managed to force open his mouth to suck some air in, but there was nothing.

"Wow, that looks painful. You must've landed wrong."

Duncan looked up, focused his vision best he could and saw the driver staring down at him. A mocking concerned look on his face as he grabbed the spamming Duncan by the back of his collar and hoisted him so Duncan was sitting up, his back leaning against the wall. The driver kneeled next to Duncan as he rubbed the side of his back until he could stop spamming and breath again. Still wincing from the pain, Duncan scowled at the driver as he stood back up.

"Whelp, your turn." The driver said as he pulled out car keys from his hoody pocket, dropping them on Duncan's head as he walked away. "Have fun."

Cringing in pain, Duncan picked up the keys as he grabbed the top of the work bench next to him and hoisted himself slowly onto his feet, a few of his joints cracking on the way up as the rest of his body screamed at him. Standing up, Duncan gave a pained groan before he walked over to the door and inside the house. A few steps into the hall, Duncan heard someone walking down the flight of stairs to his right. It was the driver, his brother Donovan, carrying a cardboard box in one hand and a helmet in the other. Duncan had to bite his lip to keep himself from cussing out his brother and cursing in pain as Donovan shoved the box into his brother's side.

"Go help mom and dad fill up the car with this crap then toss it in the dumpster when you're done." Donovan ordered, putting on the helmet as walked over to the two motorcycles next to the truck. Hopping onto the green and black chopper with the punisher logo on the side, giving Duncan the finger as he cruised away. "You're turn dumbass."

Shaking his head, Duncan looked into the box. It was filled with nothing but old ceramic birds wrapped in old news papers that used to belong to his grandmother. That and an old unmarked letter. Duncan tilted his head, curious. Duncan couldn't tell what was in it, other than some kind of thick paper. Shrugging, and cringing from the pain of doing so, Duncan put the letter in his back pocket.

"Duncan." Looking over to his side, Duncan could see coming up from the living room was an older matronly looking woman, appearing to be in her mid to late 40's, though she looked rather fit for her age. She had shoulder length blond hair, wore a read sweater and blue jeans. Carrying a box of her own with a cardboard tube laying on top of it, the smile on the woman's face turned to a look of confusion and concern as she reached him. "Duncan, Look at your clothes, all covered in filth. What happened, are you okay?"

"Kinda, ma." Duncan shrugged, doing his best to hide the pain and look nonchalant. "Just lost a round of car chicken with Don."

"Ugh. I can't believe you boys are still doing that." Duncan's mother groaned. "You'd think at least one of you would've learned after the first trip to the hospital...You don't have to see a doctor do you?"

"Nah ma." Duncan wiped off the front of his shirt with one hand, as he held up the box with one arm, flinching from the pain. "Nothing's broken."

"Are you sure sweety?" Mama Thatch asked concerned, setting down her box on the floor before she went over to her son. Duncan pulled away from his mother as she reached out to him. "Duncan?"

"I'm fine Ma." Duncan slumped, and flinched from the pain. "F-fine."

"It better stay that way Duncan." Mama Thatch snapped at her son, picking the crate back up with one hand and the tube with the other. "By the time summer's over it'll be a full year sine we've had to put a cast on any of you. Think of it like this, if you and Donovan make it, you'll get that ice cream cone I promised when the twins first started it."

"Yeah ma." Duncan rolled his eyes. "An ice cream cone. Can't wait."

"And, I'll make the final payment on the last windshield you boys had to replace." Mama Thatch said flatly. "Don't tell me you smashed another one, just now."

"Um, I don't think so."

"That's good to hear." Mama Thatch raised her eye brow at him. "Do you know how many that old family car has gone through over the years?"

"Uhhh..."

"Well I know. I counted." Duncan's mother squinted her eyes at her son. "So has your father... and our insurance."

"S-soooo, Don said to fill up the car and dump it." Duncan stammered, reaching for the box his mother was holding. "You want me toooo-"

"I first got that car when I was 16. Not once did I have a problem." Mrs. Thatch shook her head, dropping her crate on top of Duncan's own in a huff. Duncan let out a wisp of pain, hunching over and doing his best to stand. Looking up, Duncan could see his mother rolling her yes, her free hand on her hip as she twirled the cardboard tube with the other. "Then suddenly you boys got your license and its practically in the shop every other week."

"I-Its n-not that bad, Ma."

"You're right of course sweety, I am exaggerating." Mama Thatch smiled sweetly at her son before she tapped the cardboard tube against Duncan's side, the exact spot where the large bull headed freak had stomped on him during the beating. Duncan grimaced and slowly sank to his knees, wincing through his teeth all the while. Dropping the boxes in a slump on the ground, holding his side where his mother poked him, Duncan felt the cardboard tube tapping his forehead. "Now, are you going to tell me what really happened? If Donovan really hurt you like that, I would have heard you two fighting in the garage."

"Ma." Duncan took a deep inhale before he forced himself back onto his feet, ignoring his joints creaking and his muscles screaming at him. "I. Am. Fine."

"If you say so sweety."

Mama Thatch sighed, shaking her head before whistling fallowed by a clap. The sound of excited pounding accompanied by a small jingling chain erupted down the hall before a giant four legged monster strolled out of the hallway. The hellish beast angrily snarled at the mother and son, a rusted broken chain that belonged with the Titanic was wrapped around its neck, slimy gore oozed down its gaping maw before it gave a hunger filled roar before it charged. The eldest Thatch jumped in front of her injured son, filled with the strength of a determined mother to defend her child from the ungodly beast.

Really it was the family bulldog. While he wouldn't win any beauty contests, he was an adorable purebred. The dog was about knee high, mostly covered in white fur, aside from the black bit around his right eye, giving the canine the look of an eye patch. The giant chain was just his dog collar, neatly patterned in green camouflage. Regular dog dribble dripped a bit as he strolled out of the hallway and into the living room. The dog's eyes spotted Mama Thatch and marched over to his beloved master, a happy chuffing sound laughed through his doggy grin as he looked up at her. Mama Thatch smiled herself down at the dog, rubbing behind his ears as she knew he liked it before the dog fell over onto his side, exposing his stomach to her.

"Oorah. Who's a good boy Chesty? Huh, who's a good boy?" Mama Thatch cooed, rubbing the dog's belly. The dog laughed out a singular bark before licking his nose."That's right, you are!

"I-I'm walking the dog," Duncan sighed, his hand gripping the crates as he leaned on them. "aren't I?"

"No, the dog is walking you." Mama Thatch nodded whistling, Chesty instantly stood back up on all fours, at attention… well as much as a dog could anyway. "Your brother dumped everything we wanted thrown away before you got here. Your father and I will shift through more of it this weekend, and since you didn't help out today, you'll be doing that while your brother gets off scott free."

"Oh come on Ma, that's bullsh-"

"Duncan. Edward. Thatch." Mama Thatch glared, her voice flat. Even the family dog straightened his gaze at the youngest Thatch.

"Sorry Ma."

"Don't you 'sorry Ma' me, young man." Mama Thatch put her left hand on her hip. "First you skip out on a family project you've known about for months, forcing the rest of us to pick up the slack. Then you come back when its all over, hurt and covered in filth. All of which you lie to me about while blaming it on your brother. I give you a chance to tell the truth and make up for it only for you to lie to me again and have the gall to complain about it, playing the victim."

"Uh, ummm," Duncan stammered. "I wouldn't say I was playing the victim."

"No, you were just going to curse to my face how I was being unfair to you." Mama Thatch deadpanned, crossing her arms. "You are right of course. I am being unfair."

Duncan took a step back from that, as whenever she said something like that with knowing smile she had on face couldn't mean anything good, especially for him. Mama Thatch unscrewed the end of the tube, her smirk only grew as she stared at her son for moment before pulling out a full Japanese katana. It was easy to recognize as it had the famous- dangerous curve of the type of sword. Its black handle was covered with overlapping green thread for a grip, decorated with a silver diamond weave in the design. The scabbard was the same solid black as the base handle but it also had the same green thread wrapped around the center, right at the base of the curve. Duncan stood in awe as his mother held up the sword over her head and pulled it partly open and free, the shining metal reflected a brilliant silver like beam of light from the lamp above it on the ceiling.

"H-holy," Duncan stammered, so distracted by the sword that he lost his grip on the creates and lost his balance. Duncan tried to catch himself but it was too late and he fell, landing on all fours, though never loosing sight of the shining blade above his mother. "I-is that real? Where did you even find that?"

"Oh, its real." Mama Thatch nodded, triumphant joy in her voice as she slammed the blade back in its scabbard. "Found it in the attic today. Apparently your great-granddaddy Deacon came back from Okinawa with a little souvenir besides a can of dirt."

"Jesus, that's awesome." Duncan cheered, jumping back up to his feet, not even bothering to hide his limp as he jumbled over to look at the sword. Only when Duncan managed to get close enough to touch it, Mama Thatch pulled it away and back into the tube, sealing it shut. "O-oh come on!"

"Ah-ah. No." Mama Thatch decreed. "This is going in storage with the rest of the valuable stuff we found today, safe. Where it belongs. If you were with us when we found it, like you were supposed to, you might have had a say in it."

"Uh-huh." Duncan snorted, folding his arms over his chest, and wheezing from the pain and effort. "S-sure Ma. I bet Donovan was all on board with that."

"Your brother is leaving to join the Marines at the end of the summer. He can't bring a sword with him. For now this is staying with me." Mama Thatch announced as she scratched Chesty's ears. "Since we're not dumping any more junk from the attic today, just leave that in the garage for now. Then I want you to walk the dog. He's been good so give him a treat when you get back."

"Where are you going?" Duncan asked.

"I just spent all morning in a moldy old attic." Mama Thatch explained, tossing Duncan Chesty's lead. "I'm going to eat and have some fun."

"Shooting range?"

"Shooting range." Mama Thatch nodded. "Now Duncan, before I go, are you sure you're okay?"

"I told you." Duncan sighed. "I am fine."

"Duncan Edward Thatch, you wouldn't lie to your mother would you?"

"No ma," Duncan answered, a wide smile on his face, sarcastically talking through his exposed closed teeth. "I'd never do that."

"Alright than, give chesty two laps instead of his usual one." Mama Thatch ordered. "And you will be here this weekend to help me and your father. Don't even think of sneaking out of it."

"Oh, ma i'd-

"Save it." Mama Thatch rolled her eyes, holding up the tube which held the sword. "We found this on the first day Duncan. Imagine what else is up there. I can already here it now. 'Dibs'."

"I'll be there Ma." Duncan nodded, his eyes staring hard at the tube in his mothers hands.

"You better be." Mama Thatch said, rolling her eyes as she quickly jabbed her son in the side again with the tube. Duncan was too slow to block it and grimaced, curling up from the pain again. Mama Thatch sighed as she walked out the door to the garage, tube still in hand. "So stubborn."

"She never plays fair." Duncan sighed, rubbing the spot his mother jabbed until the pain faded. Looking down at the bulldog at his feet, the same toothy grin the dog gave Duncan's mother staring back up at him. "Well come on boy. Lets go."