Sunday Morning
Sam woke with a killer hangover. He had left Dean to himself when he and Anna had finally gone upstairs to sleep the previous night. They had stayed on the porch after Dean had stormed off swapping hunting stories and laughing over dorm life, the whole time downing homemade margaritas and devolving to shots of tequila. Sam had been surprised to discover that Anna had a bachelor's in Library Science, World Religions and a Master's in Theology.
"You can't be much older than me," Sam had managed between coughs of revulsion. He had always hated the taste of tequila.
"No," Anna had replied through the slice of lemon in her teeth. "Not much. I'm only one year younger than your brother." Anna had paused at this point and swayed a little in her chair as she held up one hand as though counting on her fingers. "Didn't we go over that already? That was when my mom died."
"Oh, yeah," Sam rejoined. "I remember, now. Burning mom. That's how-" Sam hiccupped in a terribly cliché way, which sent him and Anna into a fit of laughter that lasted a few moments. "That's how," he began again, trying to catch his breath as Anna wiped tears from her eyes. "That's how my fiancée died. She burst into flames."
Anna's eyes opened wide in drunken shock. "No."
"Yes," Sam slurred, nodding his head. "On the ceiling," he said into his shot of tequila. Anna gasped.
"Weird." She shook her head and refilled her glass.
Sam was definitely paying for the night's drunken release. However, even through the spinning headache and nausea, he felt lighter than he had in months. He had finally been able to talk with someone who understood, who needed no explanation. Dean was great, and an amazing brother, but there were things they just couldn't talk about. Dean was so afraid to let his guard down that Sam couldn't get past his defenses to really talk sometimes. Dean loved him, he knew, and would have done anything to protect him, but Dean had no concept of how to communicate with Sam. He was a lot like Dad in that respect. Anna was open, and willing to talk, but Sam sensed a loneliness in her that reminded him of Dean. They both seemed so afraid of letting anyone get close. In Anna's case it was so bad that she had needed four margaritas and half a bottle of tequila to really open up, and even then she had been guarded. True, Sam couldn't remember too much past the third margarita clearly, but he remembered bits and pieces.
Sam made his way slowly across the blue bedroom into the bathroom. As he swung the door open he was greeted by an uncharacteristically awake Dean.
"Good morning, sunshine!" Dean gave his brother a once over before continuing. "AA says hello!."
Sam gave a sarcastic smile before stumbling toward the sink, holding the edge of the tub for support as he walked. Dean reached over and turned the water on for his brother and held a towel up for him once Sam had washed his face.
"Who knew," Sam said as he rubbed his face dry. "That such a small woman could hold so much liquor."
Dean smiled broadly at Sam.
"You're enjoying this aren't you?" Sam sat on the toilet and dropped his head into his hands, willing the room to stay still.
"Yeah," Dean grinned broadly. He knew he wasn't being very sympathetic, but he figured he wouldn't get many opportunities to do this to his brother. "How much did you two drink last night?"
"Well," Sam lifted his head carefully and looked up at Dean. "I stayed with her through a pitcher of margaritas and half a bottle of tequila. Somewhere between the third margarita and the tequila I stopped counting."
Dean whistled through his teeth and handed Sam a glass of water.
"Drink this and take two aspirin. I'll meet you downstairs. We have a job." Sam groaned but took the water from Dean and the bottle of pills from the sink counter.
Dean returned to his room and grabbed the photo and a newspaper off the nightstand before heading down to the kitchen. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, the welcome scent of fresh coffee filled his senses. He turned to enter the kitchen, and stopped at the door. Sitting at the table was Anna with one foot up on the seat of her chair and her head resting in her hand. She had the same hoodie and shorts on, and fuzzy elephant slippers. Anna had a death grip on her coffee and her eyes closed. Dean smiled gently and entered the room.
"Good morning." Anna lifted her head slowly, and though the signs of a hangover were evident, her eyes were clear. "I hear you two had quite a night."
"Coffee cups above the machine," Anna mumbled and yawned. "Sugar's in the bowl." Dean tried not to laugh as he crossed to the counter to fix himself a cup. As he looked in the sink, the remains of last nights margaritas and the rinds of close to two dozen lime wedges were covered in a thin layer of salt. Dean inwardly winced.
"You two had one hell of a party," Dean called over his shoulder. A grunt was all he heard in reply. He laughed quietly and shook. He took his cup and joined Anna at the table, setting the picture and paper on the worn wood.
"We have to talk," Dean said after he swallowed the morning's first mouthful of coffee. Anna's eyes moved to the photo and Dean could almost see her physically sober before him.
"Where was that?" she asked.
"Next to my bed. The gray room." Dean never took his eyes from Anna as she lifted her head and sat up. Her eyes moved from the photo to the newspaper, and the picture there completely sobered her. She took a deep drink from her coffee and reached out to the paper. Anna looked it over, skimming through the text and reading the caption twice.
Lawrence Thibideaux (right) and Bernard Thibideaux (left) of New Orleans helping to evacuate stranded citizens from their flooded homes in the aftermath of Katrina.
"I can't help noticing," Dean said, "that the guy on the right, and the guy in this photo are the same."
Anna looked from one to the other, and then she raised her eyes to meet Dean's. His breath caught, but he gave no outward sign. Instead, he waited for Anna to speak.
"What do you want to know?"
"Who is he?"
Anna tilted her head and set the paper down, taking another sip of coffee.
"It says right there he's Lawrence Thibideaux."
Dean gave a wry look.
"Come on, Annie. I'm not stupid-"
"Why do you call me Annie?" she interrupted. Dean smiled as if to say 'because you hate it.' Anna shook her head and scrunched her mouth to one side in frustration, a look ruined by a sudden yawn.
"Okay then," she said through her yawn. "Lawrence and I were in school at the same time, studying world religions. I had just gotten my first bachelor's when he graduated with his Doctorate."
Dean finished his coffee and stood to prepare another cup. As he poured the aromatic liquid, Sam walked in. Dean held out the cup and Sam took it, drinking it down without moving away while Dean got another mug for himself. When Sam finished he pushed Dean aside to fix himself another cup. Dean smiled and walked back to the table. Nobody spoke until Sam had joined them at the table, when Dean spoke up again.
"Do you have any idea why he'd be calling Dad?"
"Who?" Sam asked. Dean pushed the photo and the paper toward him, letting Sam catch up on his own. Anna took a deep breath, watching the photo move across the table.
"He must need help," she answered tightly.
"Help with what?" Sam broke in. Anna shrugged in a noncommittal way that made Dean upset for some reason he couldn't fathom. Sam yawned and took a swallow from his cup. "Well," Sam continued. "He looks like he can take care of himself, so it must be our kind of business, whatever it is."
Anna and Dean turn in unison to look at Sam, Dean looking like he'd like to kick his brother. Anna simply seemed to be amused.
"Has he contacted you?" she laughed as she turned back to Dean. He nodded an affirmative and she nodded in reply. She went to take another sip of coffee but realized that her cup was empty. She went to the counter, quickly fixed herself a new cup and returned to the table.
"He's coming here to meet us."
Anna nearly spit her coffee out. Choking as she swallowed quickly, she managed to gasp out an astonished "What!"
Dean raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair as Sam reached forward to pat Anna on the back. She got control of herself and slapped Sam's hand away, turning wide eyes on Dean as she grabbed a napkin to clean herself.
"Is there a problem with that?" he drawled.
Anna took a slow breath.
"Does he know that I'm here?" Anna had begun to visibly tremble.
"Does it matter?" Dean eyed her, concern working its way into his expression. Anna exploded.
"Listen up, you little James Spader clone. You- I- and he-" Anna sputtered to a stop as she realized that nothing she was saying made any sense.
"No," she finally said, slouching back in her chair. "It doesn't matter. Let him come."
Anna stood slowly and walked out of the kitchen. Dean and Sam watched her go, and then turned to each other. Before either of them could speak, Anna came back in. She walked to the table, grabbed her coffee and turned away once more to leave. At the door she stopped and spun back to face Dean and Sam.
"Did he mention if Bernard would be coming too?"
Dean and Sam looked at each other and Sam shrugged. Dean gave Sam a "dumb-ass" look and returned to Anna.
"No, he didn't mention a Bernard."
"Bernard from the newspaper?" Sam queried. Anna's eyes shot to Sam.
"Yes," she replied. "His brother." Anna scratched her nose in frustration and pressed the length of her finger under her eye to stop the twitching. "Let me know when he arrives, please."
Dean watched Anna leave a second time. Sam turned to ask a question, but stopped at the look on his brother's face. He watched Dean for a moment, concerned.
"You okay? You look funny."
"Don't I always?" Dean cracked, absently. Sam smiled obligingly, but pressed on.
"Seriously, Dean. What's up?"
Dean looked over at Sam and shook his head, a weak smile on his lips. "I don't know, man." His eyes returned to the doorway. "All I know, is that it was worse last night."
Sam moved around the table and grabbed Dean by the shoulders and forced Dean to meet his eye. "Dean," he said slowly. "What are you talking about?"
Dean looked into his brother's eyes and reached up to place his own hand on Sam's shoulder. Dean closed his eyes, sighed, and hung his head.
"Sammy," he whispered. Fighting tears of frustration, Dean related the recurring nightmare he'd been suffering from. By the he finished, both men sat leaning their elbows on the table and staring into their now cold coffee.
"How long have you been having this dream?" Sam asked in solemn tone. Dean breathed a small sigh of relief that Sam was taking this seriously.
"On and off since I was a teenager. Lately though, almost every night. It's getting worse than waking up to you screaming." Dean and Sam both chuckled dryly. "Now that I've actually met her again, it's freaking me out. Everything I feel in the dream keeps coming up. It makes just talking to her hard."
Sam smiled at his brother and shook his head.
"Sometimes, it's meant to."
Dean raised an eyebrow and grunted in response.
"So," Sam said after a moment of silence, a smile in his voice. "That's why no caves."
Dean punched Sam playfully in the shoulder. "Shut up."
Bernard walked along the streets of downtown San Antonio. People, tourists, milled around the Alamo and along the Riverwalk. He sneered in derision at the poorly dressed sausages wandering around. They were beneath him. Not one of them would make a decent human, let alone a decent meal. The disgust he felt for the tourists here far outstripped anything he had felt on Bourbon Street. At least there the tourists had dressed properly. They had been young and alive. Here all he saw were old, worn out people with their fat children.
Tejano and Mariachi music blared from almost every restaurant and club. Nowhere had he found even one decent jazz singer. Bernard stopped on the corner of Alamo Street and stared in disbelief at the garish orange statue that stood almost two stories high. The plaque said something about a 'Flame of Friendship' as a gift from Mexico. Snorting at pathetic attempt at modern art, Bernard continued down Alamo to the staircase that led down to the Riverwalk. The restaurants and stores were somewhat deserted since the river had been drained of its water. This was apparently an annual tradition in the city.
Above him, in the afternoon sky, Bernard could feel the full moon rising. It called to him, and he wanted to let go right now. But he pulled himself back. No, he could not let go here. There wasn't one person here worth his effort. There was no room here to let himself run free. San Antonio was spread out, but there was nowhere to go. In New Orleans, people lived on top of each other, but there was so much room, so many nooks and dark recesses to hide. The bayou had unlimited space with marshes and deltas to run on. The only thing Texas had over Bernard's beloved home was the wildlife. Texas could support large game in massive quantities. Range hunting was definitely on the agenda.
The faint strains of a Dixieland tune caught Bernard's ear. He followed the sound to a bar situated in the basement of a hotel. The band was live and the food smelled good, and Bernard took a table. The waitress quickly brought him the obligatory water, and he ordered a whisky to wash it down. Looking around him, Bernard knew where he would begin his hunt tonight. Last night he had fought the change, but tonight there would be no holding back, and that was how Bernard preferred things. He had already explored the town, and though the East side had seemed promising, he would hunt downtown tonight. There was a lesser chance of being caught if he could just blend in with the tourist crowd.
Bernard longed for the scents of the French Quarter, but this Riverwalk came close. He would hunt here.
Lawrence stepped out of the cab and ran his fingers through his hair. He took a shaky breath, embarrassed at his nerves. He looked up the length of the house, admiring how it not changed in the last four years. Proceeding slowly up the walk Lawrence tried to banish the shaking that threatened.
He and Anna had not parted on the best of terms. The death of Geoffrey had nearly convinced Lawrence to return, but he had stayed silent, out of pride. Her hurt and anger had been justified, but the secrets had been too numerous on both sides. Neither he nor Anna had shared enough. Of course, he thought as he climbed the porch stairs, she never lied about her feelings.
The door swung open to reveal a man. Lawrence gave a small start, shocked to see someone other than Anna answering the door. The man appraised him, and Lawrence did the same. This man was shorter than Lawrence, probably about six-foot tall, and his light brown eyes peered at Lawrence suspiciously.
"You Thibideaux?" he asked in a surprisingly deep voice.
"Yes," Lawrence responded. "And you are?"
"Dean," he replied, holding his hand out. Lawrence shook Dean's hand, expecting the man to try and crush his hand. That he did not, Lawrence took as a good sign. "We spoke on the phone. Sam, my brother, is in the kitchen. Why don't you join him and I'll… go get… Anna." Dean's voice trailed off as Lawrence looked through him to the staircase behind him. Turning, Dean felt the now almost familiar clench in his gut.
Anna stood at the landing, observing them both. Dean was amazed to see her hair, usually in loose curls, hung straight and sleek. She had changed from the casual clothes she had been wearing into a fashionable skirt and blouse, complete with heels. He clenched his jaw at the knowledge this was all for Thibideaux.
Anna descended the stairs slowly without a single misstep. Obviously she was just as comfortable in stilettos as bare feet. Dean backed away as Anna came off the last step and walked, gliding almost, to Lawrence. They stood, staring into each other's eyes. Neither moved, and Dean felt himself dangerously close to stepping in. Out of nowhere, Anna's hand whipped up, soundly cracking against Lawrence's cheek. He bowed to one side, and Anna let her hand fall back to her side. As Lawrence righted himself, Anna lifted her. Dean looked down at her, astonished.
Lawrence's eyes burned, and Anna narrowed hers, daring him to do something, anything. Hands clenched into fists by his side, Lawrence worked his jaw, making sure Anna hadn't broken anything. After all this time, she still packed one hell of a punch. Behind Anna, Dean stepped forward in a possessive stance, making sure Lawrence knew he had a rival. Anna followed his line of sight and turned to Dean, eyebrow raised. He shrugged his shoulders at her and she smiled at him, amused. Anna felt grateful for his support. Looking back to Lawrence her smile fell away.
"Kitchen," she said, spinning away on one heel, leaving the two men behind her.
Dean turned to Lawrence and flashed an arrogant grin. "Kitchen," he repeated and followed Anna into the back of the house.
Lawrence took a deep breath, closed the front door and walked toward the kitchen, crossing himself.