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Thirteen years ago…
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Danny never quite realized how much he hated the ceiling until it was spinning above him. He didn't even see the punch that had sent him reeling to the oaken floor, but he sure as hell could still feel it. Two marks from the man's ring finger just below his right cheekbone, by the feel of it, probably gonna bruise in the morning. He'd been down for a good fifteen minutes now, face blooded with a red trickle still flowing down his cheek. No one had bothered to get him back up again, by now they all knew what a lethal blow looked like and this was far from it.
And so he lay there, staring up at the ceiling wondering how he'd been a fool enough to get himself into this business in the first place. He was only interrupted by the sight of a bushy handlebar mustache looking down at him. At least, he thought it was looking down at him, the ceiling still hadn't stopped moving from his point of view. He heard a gruff, burly voice snort before asking him "The fock you doin' down there boy?" To which Danny replied with a groan "Dying, can't you let me do it in peace?" The voice above him gave a chortle before extending a large hairy hand to help him up.
Danny gave a roll of his eyes before allowing himself to be hauled to his feet again. A few minutes later, the burly mustachioed man was helping him clean his wounds. "Who were you fightin' this time?" He asked, wringing out another bloody bandage. "Axford." Danny replied dully. The man's brows lofted until they might have been a pair of mini mustaches themselves. "John Axford? He's half your size, what are you daft?" Danny shrugged in turn. "Yeah, I hadn't noticed that…" he'd been prepping for this fight for two weeks.
The man snorted again, washing out the bandage again and pressing it to Danny's cheeks. "You know what your problem is?" An unamused snort from Danny in turn. "What's my problem Uncle Ian?" His uncle considered a moment before giving a wry smirk. "You're afraid of getting knocked down." Danny gave him an incredulous look, grinning cockily back with a an impressed sound. "You're cupshot…" his uncle gave a great burly bellylaugh, wringing out the cloth as he considered a moment again. "You're afraid you get knocked because you're a welp… you're not, Danny. You know why you get knocked down?" "Why Uncle Ian?"
"So that one day when it really counts, you'll know how to stand up"
