Here I bring you yet another prequel to the Helluva Dad au, this time of the first meeting between Striker, Jake, and I.M.P. Just to remind you, Jake is five years old during this time.
Enjoy!
Striker made sure that his tail was tightly wrapped around Jake. The impling was yelling happily as Bombproof trotted through the ranch's fields, leading the cattle out to the grazing area.
"What did I tell ya, Jake? Keep yer hands on the horn of the saddle!" he chided gently, prompting the impling to obey.
Joe and Lynn's sons rode a few meters away. Everyone in the group had a position to maintain, thus keeping the herd together. Still, there'd be a lagger every now and then. It was Striker's task to lead said individuals back into the main herd, as Bombproof was the biggest horse and wouldn't be attacked by the stampeding animals.
Soon enough, five cows broke away from the herd, their calves following close behind.
"Oi, those cows are goin' the wrong way!" Jack called out.
"I got it!" Striker looked down at Jake, grinning as he gripped the reins. "Hang on tight, pup. It'll be the heck of a ride!
Jake yelled happily as Bombproof was kicked into a gallop. His father's chest pressed against him protectively.
As Bombproof outran the runaway cows, Striker whipped his tail energically. The frightened bovines turned back and ran back towards the herd. Striker was about to follow when he heard Joe calling for him.
"Boys, yer old man is callin'! I gotta go!"
"No prob, Strikes! We'll take it from here!"
Striker turned Bombproof around and rode to the entrance of the ranch, where Joe and Lynn were waiting alongside some other people: three imps and a Hellhound.
He recognized the young woman from some family portraits in the farmhouse. From what he'd learned, she lived in Imp City with her husband and worked as a 'freelancer'.
Oh, right. Joe mentioned that his daughter would come visit for the Harvest Moon Festival
"Well, howdy!" he greeted, tipping his hat as he dismounted. Ye must be the famous Mildred! I've heard some good things about ya from yer folks, little lady!"
Mildred giggled as they shook hands. What a lovely lady, indeed.
He was introduced to her other two companions. Her husband–Moxxie–and her boss Blitzo. Striker only needed to take one look at the former to figure out why Lynn and Joe disliked him so much. What miss Mildred saw in him was a complete mystery.
Jake shyly peeked at the newcomers from behind his father's leg. He quickly went back into hiding as Millie noticed him.
"Awww, who's this cute little fella?" she squealed in delight.
"This is my boy, Jake." Striker looked down at his son. The impling didn't feel comfortable about new faces just yet. "Don't be shy, kiddo. Say hello to Mildred."
Jake peeked again. Striker wouldn't let him get away from it this time, though. He gently pushed Jake forward with his tail before he could hide.
Now completely exposed, Jake waved his hand timidly. "Hi..."
"Hello there, Jakey! Name's Blitz–the 'O' is silent– nice to meet you!"
Sadly, Blitzo's loud–though well-meaning–introduction startled Jake into hiding behind Striker again. The cowboy sighed as he ruffled his son's hair.
"Sorry 'bout that," he apologized. "Jake doesn't like strangers."
"Y' know, you boys should enter the pain games!"
Blitzo's eyes lit up. "I heard games! What games? I'm in!"
"Every harvest festival, there's a competition to be the roughest, toughest bastard in Wrath!"
Jake tugged on his father's pants. "Whads a bastad, daddy?" he asked innocently.
The adults exchanged utter looks of dismay. Joe cleared his throat awkwardly.
"See, kiddo... there's certain words that only grown-ups use."
"Is it a snack?"
"Hey, Jakey! Has Sallie May shown you her knife collection?" Millie blurted out. Jake's eyes lit up.
"Can I go see it, daddy?" he asked. Striker rubbed the back of his head.
"Err... Sure, pup. Just don't touch anythin', okay?"
With that, Jake ran off towards the farmhouse with a happy yell. The group sighed in relief.
"Thanks for that, miss Mildred."
Millie smiled. "You don't have to be so formal. You may call me Millie!"
Moxxie seemed to be somewhat jealous of the lack of attention he was receiving from his parents-in-law, as he announced his intention to participate in the Pain Games. Striker watched amusingly as Moxxie received a mild elbow from Lynn that brought tears to his eyes.
"I was born here, too! I have some fight in me!" he exclaimed.
Smirking, Striker placed a hand on Moxxie's shoulder. "Well, then, little fella... Why don't cha help me wrangle one o' them hogs for dinner?" he pointed towards the corral where a lone boar was sleeping.
Moxxie shrugged. "Simple! Watch me–" Striker stopped him before he could take out a gun.
"With these." he threw his knife and a lasso to Moxxie's hands. "Bullets can't pierce the shell. Ye gotta get the knife underneath and pry yourself an openin'." He almost laughed at how Moxxie's expression changed. Clearly, he wasn't used to killin' the traditional way.
Guns aren't bad. They do the job nicely, after all. However, one shouldn't rely on them all the time. Like all tools, they could fail or be otherwise unusable for certain jobs. This is such an example– a hog's hide is hard as stone. Bullets cannot penetrate it.
Besides, there's nothing like a good wrestling match with a hog.
"Daddy, what he doing?"
Striker looked down at Jake as he munched on one of Lynn's homemade muffins. Damn it, he'd told Sallie May not to let him have any before dinner!
"The lil' nerd's goin' to try and kill that hog for dinner, pup." Striker explained.
"Daddy, you promised I'd kid it!" the impling whined.
"From the way things are goin', you might finish the job, Jake."
As Striker had expected, Moxxie's weak grip on the knife caused him to miss the shot and strike the knife against the hard part of the hide. This awoke the hog and it started running around the corral, trying to buck Moxxie off its back.
Striker looked down at Jake, smirking. "Go show 'im how its done, pup."
With a happy yell, Jake ran into the corral towards the hog and jumped on its back, pushing Moxxie out of the way. Striker's chest was swelling with pride as he watched his son twirl the knife in his hand and bring it down on the hog's neck, just like he'd taught him. The animal gave one final screech of agony before dropping to the ground.
"Holy motherfucker, did that kid just-?"
"Whoo, way to go, kiddo!"
"Daddy, I kided the piggy! Did ya see me?"
Smiling, Striker ruffled Jake's hair. "Ya did a good job, pup. I'm proud of ya."
From the edge of the corral, Joe laughed. "Like father, like son! Yer surely bringin' up a strong young man, Striker!"
Striker picked up the hog and carried it on his shoulder. "He's still a long way to go, but he's gettin' there."
"Ow.. my clavicle!"
Oh, right. Striker looked down at Moxxie. The little wimp was covered in mud, and he was rubbing his neck as if he'd broken something.
Yup, definitely a wimp.