Disclaimer:

Disney and Pixar Studios are the proper owners of the characters from The Incredibles. The rest that I made up belong to my own twisted imagination.

Warning: Contains some swearing.

DarkSoar presents
An 'The Incredibles' fanfiction
The Secret Origins of Mr. Incredible

Prologue: The Early Years

August 14, 1919

"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Parr, you are the proud parents of a brand new baby boy."

Dr. Woolstock smiled, albeit tiredly, as he handed over the toweled baby to the exhausted, but eager mother. It had been a long ten hours, for everyone concerned.

Mrs. Katherine Higgins Parr, gazed in amazement as she cuddled her son –her son, she almost couldn't believe it- lovingly. "Hi there, little Robert Parr, welcome to the family."

Her husband, George, beamed at his son and wife proudly. The brown-haired, five foot twelve inch engineer gently reached out to stroke Robert on the cheek. "Look, honey, he's sleeping. I'd say he's got your hair color and eyes, but he'll be a spitting image of his old man when he gets older," he murmured softly. "He's perfect. I can't believe that we are now officially parents."

A few moments passed with both of the Parrs admiring their newborn child. Dr. Woolstock approached both of them and laid his hand on George's shoulder to get his attention. In a low voice so as not to wake the baby up, he said, "I'll be in my office getting the paperwork ready for you to be signed. But please take your time and come when you're ready. I need a few minutes break myself."

George was barely able to tear his attention away from his son; he squeezed Woolstock's hand in thanks and told him that he'd be there in around twenty minutes. Excusing himself, the good doctor made his way out of the delivery room, leaving the proud parents with their newborn son.

January 23, 1925

Three police cars were parked haphazardly in front of the Parrs residence. Their siren lights flashed mournfully, cycling around and around. Curious neighbors and passerbys huddled in groups behind the yellow police tape. Whispers and mutters flew from person to person, forming all sorts of rumors and wild speculation.

Tears of pain, loss and agony streamed from George's brown eyes as he wallowed silently in his personal hell for the moment. He and a police officer, Lieutenant Nielsen, were in the kitchen. Mustering enough control to speak without shaming himself by bawling and crying, he managed to choke out, "H-have they found the bastard who did this?" Having kept a respectful silence, Lieutenant Nielsen swallowed the lump in his throat and somehow managed to answer the question. "Not yet sir, they're still chasing the suspect who managed to hot-wire your car-"

"I understand. Please tell me when they catch him," George's voice turned ominous and flat, "I want to see the murdering bastard up front for myself."

Nielsen nodded in understanding and acceptance. Although it was not in police regulations to let relatives of the victim come into close contact with the perpetrator of the crime, Nielsen was willing to bend the rule this time. In his twenty years on the force, the Lieutenant knew that facing the murderer would help a little in reducing the enormous feelings of guilt and pain that was no doubt swelling within George Parr.

Walking away, his entire body tensed with soul wrenching pain and rage, George closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. 'Dammit! Why couldn't it have been me, instead of Kate! Me, it should have been me!' Choking back a sob, the grieving man forced himself not to look in the living room, where a single filled bodybag lay.

Pounding the walls with all of his strength, not even feeling the pain when the flesh ripped off his knuckles, a single thought blazed a despairing trail through his mind.

'What the hell am I gonna tell Bobby?'

June 10, 1930:

"Well, son, near as I can tell, at the rate you're growing, you're gonna be a very big boy when you grow older. It's been my experience that big boys tend to attract attention from other boys the same size as them. Now these kinds of boys are very prideful and who would see any boy their size as a threat."

Bobby's young face crinkled up in worry and confusion, "A threat to what? Why would I be a threat to them?"

George Parr hesitated, then decided it would be best to be blunt. "This will be kind of hard to explain, but a good number of men have a certain way of thinking that tells them to deal with someone who they think would be a threat to their

status. For example, if you spend a number of years collecting a huge number of toys that no one else in town has and they give lots of attention because if that, how would you feel?"

Thinking for a minute, Bobby answered, "Uh, I dunno. Maybe I'd feel good about myself. If I had all those toys that no one else had, I'd feel pretty special, I think."

"Okay, now, how would you take it if a new boy who had just moved in had a larger or similar number of toys? And everyone else stopped paying attention to you and started paying attention to him instead?"

"I guess I'd be angry at the new boy for stealing all the attention away from me." Suddenly his eyes glowed with sudden understanding, "Dad, I see where you're getting at! You're talking about respect, right? It's like in those westerns; the bad guy is a fast draw and kills everyone who tries to go up against him. Then he spots a newcomer who is also a pretty fast draw himself and he doesn't like it so he challenges the newcomer himself!"

Smiling proudly, George nodded, "Yes that's a very good example. You see, these type of boys,

I'm pretty darn sure that they'd try and pick a fight with you, Bobbie. A good number of young men and boys both have a natural urge to be the top of the pack; to be the leader. Some do it by their brains; others lead by example; and there are those who use their strength and size to seize leadership by pushing around those smaller and weaker than themselves."

"You mean bullies, right? Like Michael Thompson across the street? He was a major pain. Before he moved, he loved to pick on me, bother me, and try to push me around just because I was smaller than him."

His father nodded in confirmation. "Yes, like Michael Thompson. However, some of these bullies are worse than the rest. They would use your size as an excuse to try and force a fight with you. I'm not saying that you should always fight with them. Always to try reason with them first; try and lessen their anger as much as you can. As my son, you've always been always able to keep your cool, and I'm really proud of you for being able to do that. Keeping your cool will help a lot if you try to talk to them first."

George was silent for a moment; observing how his son was absorbing his words. Robert looked thoughtful, anxious, afraid, and concerned, but he was still listening.

"However, you'll not be able to talk your way out of all fights. There will times when the bully won't be convinced by anything else besides a fight; and that's when you'll be forced to defend yourself. That's why we're here today."

Sounding a bit fearful now, Bobby reached out to grab his dad's arm for comfort. "W-what should I do when they try and fight with me?"

Clasping his son's slim shoulder with his hand, George reached behind his back with his right arm and brought back into view two pairs of boxing gloves. One pair was adult sized and looked very old, faded with age and patched multiple times. The other looked brand-new, fresh from the wrapping.

"Your old man took up boxing as a hobby and exercise for around ten years. Bobby, what you are going to do is to learn how to properly defend yourself. Now put these on. I'm going to show you the basic punches of boxing; the straight, the jab, the hook, the cross, and then the uppercut. Once you get the hang of those, we'll move on to footwork. When you're ready, then you and I will spar together. What'd ya say, Bobby my boy?"

Tentatively, George's eleven year old son reached out to touch the gloves. He thought back to all those times when he'd run in fright from a threatening Michael Thompson. There were other times when he'd wished that he could help the other, and sometimes younger victims of the older bully. Robert Parr could indeed see the usefulness of learning how to defend himself in this way.

With a small nod of acceptance, young Bobby Parr took the smaller pair of gloves in his hands and began trying to put them on.

"That's my boy. Look at me as I do mine. You got it? Wait, let me pull the ends; there you go. Now, watch me closely as I demonstrate the right and left straight…"

September 9, 1934

High school.

Silently, fifteen year old Bob repeated the two words once again for the fiftieth time ever since he'd woken up. Feelings of discomfort, anxiety, and excitement rampaged through him unchecked. That was what he felt on the inside, but he gave no sign of it on his face; he had long enough mastered the art of putting on a blank expression. Those poker games between him and his dad were at least helped him in something.

At the moment, he was sitting in the passenger seat of his dad's ten year old pickup truck. His dad was driving him to Bernard High School, and it was his first day.

He had never felt so nervous before. No wait, scratch that, he'd felt even more nervous asking Alice Richardson out to the banquet in eighth grade. But still, it was at times like these he'd wished that he wasn't as big or as tall as he was. Sometime in the middle of 7th grade had started a major growth spurt. In the span of one year, he had grown four inches. At the time of the graduation from 8th grade, he stood at 5"11, making him the tallest person in class. Not to mention, one of the skinniest.

Over the summer he had worked hard to remedy that. With his dad's advice, Bob had eaten what felt like tons of extra helpings at every meal, then patted down the resulting extra meat by following a rigid workout schedule. Through sparring sessions with his dad, jogging in the morning and evening, and lifting weights in his room, his thin frame bloomed from 125 lbs to 175.

Bob wasn't afraid of being singled out by his size; his classmates had probably cracked every joke there was about that. It was that the sheer number of people in one school building was a little overwhelming. His old school was relatively small; with only around thirty to fifty students per class. Bernard High School boasted nearly three thousand students, from freshman to senior. Bob shuddered at the thought of being crushed to death by the press of so many bodies in a jam packed hallway. He hoped that today wouldn't find him to suddenly be a claustrophobic.

His thoughts were interrupted by the truck coming to a halt; glancing out the window, he saw the front entrance of Bernard High. A hard lump formed at the bottom of his stomach. 'Oh god, they're people there.'

Robert had preferred walking into the school with no eyewitnesses. Yup, this day was beginning out wonderfully, he thought sourly.

"Well, son, here we are," said George, not noticing that his son looked rather hesitant to exit the vehicle. Whatever else he said was lost to Bob as he turned his full attention to the school. Boys and girls his age and older were chatting in groups, hanging around waiting for their first period bell. When his dad clapped him on the shoulder, Bob smiled weakly and reluctantly opened the door. Getting out of the truck seemed to take more willpower than he thought it would.

After waving at his dad, who took off, Bob suppressed a sudden urge to take off running after the pick-up, screaming 'Wait for me!' Clenching his fists tightly, he finally accepted the fact, however grudgingly, that he might as well get it over with. After all, he couldn't stay outside the school the whole morning.

Ordering his pounding heart to calm down, he shifted his backpack to a more comfortable position and began walking towards the school's entrance.

End Prologue

Author's Notes:
Just a crazy idea I whipped up.Take note, this fic takes place in analternate universe. Hence, World War I and II didn't happen. This universe is also a bit ahead of our ownin terms of techology and science, like say, abouttwenty five years. Thanks for reading!