Out of all days, it just had to be today. On a school morning to add that bitterness with every sweet flavor. But it wasn't like he was left much of a choice—if it was anyone's fault, it was his own father for making this harder than it had to be on the both of them. Bart had done everything within his power to actually do his best in school, in the vain attempt of receiving his end of a promise of getting the latest video game of the season. If it hadn't been thanks to his mother, Bart would have gotten his hands on it by now as per the agreement; Marge had insisted that the even the title Return of the Brain Blasters was a horror of its own accord, and that wasn't even acknowledging the actual cover art of the casing. She ended up making enough of a large fuss to convince Homer to go back on an agreed compromise between a father and his son.
Well, now the son had taken the matter into his own hands.
In all honesty, he should have known better—not the fact that he had stolen Homer's wallet, but the idea of it being a clean getaway. That reality had finally hit him with his grand idea of sneaking through the garage exit, where the fatherly menace himself had greeted him in anticipation.
"Aw, nuts." Homer began to prowl forth, the sun grazing his bare skin and making the glow of his white underpants almost blinding. His hands had mimicked bear claws, razored at the ready to strangle on target, with a grimacing mouth fueling back the undeniable rage that was due to be unleashed. "Now, we can do this the easy way, or-" The large man-child should have known better too, because there was never a fight Bart was willing to back down from like a caged animal.
The boy darted towards the nearest wall, running the lines of it despite all the clutter that threatened his progress. He had reached underneath the shadows of a shelf when the brute came at him full speed, shrieking in a battle cry. Boxes of old power tools and paints were smashed to bits in the bulldozing, with a child cowering into his shoes. With seconds to spare, the young rebel scampered out of view, leaving the great grizzly to smash against a concrete wall; the aforementioned shelf lost its bearings, tumbling into a crash landing on top of the yellow flabby wreckage.
Despite a sour victory, a sacrifice was still made in the form of Bart dancing his legs into a stumble, until eventually his stubborn feet lost friction with the slick ground. He hammered his sides against the floor, with a seeming miracle that his head didn't join the commotion. Bart's wrist also received a good beating, but was just as stubborn as his feet when it came to clutching that wallet for dear life. The nerves running up his arm became rapidly inflamed, burning and pulsing with every heartbeat.
The Homer-ing beast screamed another cry of anguish, before Bart felt the trembling and throbbing of the ground he was sprawled across. He wasn't going to make it; it was the end for Bart Simpson.
Pfft, like that would ever happen.
Within a blink of an eye, Bart shoved himself off the ground with hardly any time to properly repair his stance before Homer was in reach. The avenger thrusted his wallet arm in full wingspan, as he molded his free-hand into a bulging fist for a punch landing. Despite making contact with the gelatinous mess, it was in poor efforts, as the monstrosity merely cackled. The much too large abdomen jiggled in victory, and proved to be an endless pit in sucking out the strength and brute force of any impact that dared stand against it. Despite the proven failure, Bart pulled another punch at the gut—he quickly retreated his arm as he felt the endless void of skin begin to suck him in.
Homer thrusted himself to reach the wallet, extending an arm to claw at the distance between him and his target furiously. Bart made it his death wish that his father would ever reach it, blocking him with a defensive forearm. He felt his feet begin to skid across the ground, as the large man reached and pushed against him to arrogate the still sought wallet.
During the recent escapade, nails had been crashed and sprayed all over the floor, many with glistening pointed ends that were hungry for flesh. Bart had soon taken notice, his ears ringing at the fright of such a brutal end if he made one false move. He could already feel some of those points dig into the rubber soles of his shoes, but he refused to give in now; he braced himself as he threw the wallet amongst the nails.
Homer had taken the bait, just as the vigilante had predicted.
The grizzly man had made a dramatic leap for the wallet, his grosse mass soaring through the air above the boy's head. It may have been a low blow, but to ensure Homer landed on a bullseye, Bart had grabbed what he could of his father's fat to help swing gravity into the direction of the fall. Despite the man's weight, his flight in midair took on most of the crippling pressure that a child of Bart's wits could never muster on his own.
He released the rampaging monster as it crash landed amongst the body of nails–toddler screams and do'hs would forever haunt that garage. Before the man could regain his bearings in the midst of the cruel penalty, Bart had snatched the wallet back up from the floor; even if Homer attempted to reach it, it had still been so secluded out of arm's length from where he landed.
He finally made his escape, as his father's echoes of insults, curses, and even bitter tears shook the entire neighborhood. Bart couldn't help but smile.
Author's Note:
Thank you for checking out this story! This story was created for a request, so the main outline and general ideas to this plot is in much credit to the individual who did request it. I merely wrote it.
I did not create nor own the Simpsons. All rights are reserved to the rightful owners and writers. I do not make financial gain off of this story.