"Damien!"
Damien ran downstairs at the sound of his mother's voice. She stood tall in blue overalls, her muscled hands skillfully squeezing mustard onto her husband's hotdog.
"I-I asked for ketchup, dear," Dexter said in a slow, weak voice, meekly poking at the hotdog with his bony finger.
"We're out, remember?"
Suddenly, behind her, a muscular man appeared and snatched the hotdog off Dexter's plate. He and Margret exchanged a quick kiss.
Just about the time he was going to take a bite, he felt the energy in the room change. Damien leaped at him with kicks flying everywhere.
One arm up and blocking the attack, the man proudly smiled at the boy.
"I told you to stop taking my dad's food," Damien said, firm.
"Oh, relax, Damien. I'll make him another one," Margret said.
He did, setting Margret down and playfully spanking her as she moved to stand beside Dexter.
"Come and get it," Wess taunted.
Damien powered up, a white, wind-like aura of energy swirling around him. Everything within the room took to the air.
Margret powered up, too, settling back onto the ground and pulling the floating Dexter down with her.
Damien was off, charging at Wess. They met in a flurry of pace and power, their motions blurs.
Damien dodged Wess's counterattacks until he could place his hand on Wess's chest and send him flying out of the room with a white energy strike.
He dusted himself off and handed the hotdog to his father on a plate.
"Thank you, you shouldn't have," Dexter said.
"I got you, Dad. Sorry for the mess, Mom. I'll clean it up," Damien replied.
Margret smiled warmly. "Take it outside next time."
"Or why don't you make his plate first?" Damien suggested.
"First husband-" Margret began.
"First plate, I know. But this happens every time," Damien said, cutting her off.
"He doesn't mind, right, honey?" Margret asked.
"No, no, it's fine," Dexter said.
Wess walked back in through the broken door, cracking his neck. "Damn, kiddo, that was even harder than last time."
"Yeah, the weights you got us are paying off," Damien said.
Wess was shocked by Damien's work ethic. "I wish you were my son. Wayne is probably upstairs playing video games."
Wess took a break, realizing his son was screwing around.
"Waaaayne!!" he thundered, storming upstairs.
Margret looked over at Damien, her stare a prompt for him to get a move on.
In the dark room, dimly lit by the screen of the TV, one could hear his father thundering up the stairs, yelling his name. With a deep, heavy sigh, Wayne paused his game.
Wess kicked the door in. "Yo, Wayne, drop the controller and get your spindly ass out to the gym right now!"
Lazily and a bit irritated, Wayne responded, "Just put me out of my misery."
"Oh, I'll show you misery if you don't get up this second," Wess returned.
Wayne turned his chair slightly towards Wess. "You dragged my soul from peaceful nothingness without my knowledge or consent, and now I just have to do what you say?"
Wess, his anger now mixed with confusion, snapped, "Stop using those big words and just listen to me!"
"No, now get the hell out of my room," Wayne shot back.
Wess's rage boiled over. "Damien!"
Damien zoomed up the hallway full of patches and wood reinforcements, knocking Wess down to the kitchen, where Wess landed on a chair, his breakfast on the table.
"I swear I've had it with that kid," Wess grumbled.
"Boys will be boys, love. Just let him grow," Margaret said calmly.
Damien was looking down from the hole in the ceiling. "Don't worry, I'll talk to him."
"Thanks, dear. Tell him Mommy said good morning," Margaret replied.
From upstairs, a voice was saying from Wayne, "Go to hell."
Wess jumped up. "What did you say?!"
"Come get me," said taunting Wayne.
"Calm down, Wess!" pleaded Margaret.
Poor Dexter cowered behind his newspaper during the fracas. "This is why we're still poor," he lamented, looking at the two new holes in the house.
Upstairs, Damien looked up to see Wayne by the window, preparing to leap.
"Hey bro, wait," Damien called out.
"Just let me die," Wayne said as he jumped.