005 (Wagons) [PCW]

Christmas morning dawned like any other, the sun rising, the morning dew evaporating, dissipating into a light mist that sparkled like a thousand rainbows in the heavenly glow. The light streamed through the windows in the dining room, illuminating the scene as the plates were cleared and chairs were pushed back. Bellies were full… smiles were everywhere. Down home country cooking and Christmas morning seemed to go together hand in hand. In the center of the group, Kaitlynn McIntyre sat beside Stanley Schwartz-Rottonbottom, beaming happily at him.

Chauncy burst into the dining room, breathless, and all eyes turned to him.

"Hey, has anyone seen Lawrence? He's not in his room… I… can't find him! I haven't seen him since last night."

Kitty turned, taking in the stricken expression on Chauncy's face, paling slightly. "Did something happen last night?"

"No. Not really… I mean, we sat around and drank eggnog—"

"Wait... the eggnog that was in the punch bowl? Oh shit." She smacked herself in the forehead, "I never even thought about that. I... oh hell. He's probably wandered off like he does when he gets really drunk. Some AA sponsor I turned out to be."

"We have to find him," Chauncy murmured, looking down at a singed scrap of paper in his hand. "I need to talk to him about something very important."



The patio door slid open easily enough. The ice cubes rattled like chattering teeth, and the contents of the enormous cooler nearly spilled as he eased over the threshold, stepping down on the concrete balcony.

"Wake up," Chauncy said softly, nudging his partner with his toe.

Gowan continued to snore loudly, his mouth gaping open where he sprawled in a half-broken lawn chair.

SPLASH!

"AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!" The scream was loud enough to wake everyone who was still slumbering in the Motel 6. Bloodshot eyes fixed on Chauncy just as he assumed the Peter Pan pose, crowing at the top of his lungs.

"WAKE THE HELL UP!"



The birds were singing happily, the air unseasonably warm for December. To anyone else, it would have sounded like a heavenly chorus… to him, it was like nails on a chalkboard. He managed to open one eye (the other seemed to be stuck shut with something vaguely resembling crazy glue), and immediately regretted it. All three suns were really bright. Like a trio of thousand watt bulbs— hot lights judging him. He squeezed his eyes shut, groaning as a tiny man with a pickaxe went to work behind his eyes. His brain felt like it was squeezed into a space three sizes too small. Apparently the tiny man had friends… 27 dwarves with little hammers pounded on the huge anvil in his head. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, which tasted like a wet cat.

No wonder that eggnog tasted so great. "Bleh," it was more protracted groan than articulation as he rolled over, seeking a more comfortable place to slowly die, and immediately fell. Oh the irony. He landed hard on the ground beside the old covered wagon that graced the front lawn of the Hix Ranch, doing a faceplant on the dead grass. Before he had chance to contemplate what was going on, his stomach did a backflip, the sour taste of rotten eggs and spiced rum filling his mouth. Finding energy, he pushed up from the ground with arms that trembled, decorating the brown grass with yellowish liquid. His arms gave out, spilling him into the lake of vomit. Lovely.

With a groan that set his head to pounding again, he flopped on his back, inching away from the steaming, stinking puddle. He closed his eyes tight, laying an arm across them, hoping that if he laid here long enough a wild animal would feel sorry for him and eat him for breakfast. Breakfast?

Oh hell.

He'd probably missed that too.

Tears filled his eyes, leaking out around his lashes. The last thing he wanted was to be alone on this day but the thought of being surrounded by all those shiny, happy people made him gag audibly.

Footsteps crunched across the lawn, sounding like the thundering feet of a thousand elephants. He turned his head, squinting in the direction they seemed to be coming from, watching someone's legs getting closer and closer. He mumbled something just before the feet hit his nearly dried mess, halting their progress.

"…wouldn' close any comer…"

Wait… that wasn't quite right. He tried to untangle his tongue, trying to think about what he wanted to say but it hurt too much. He gave up with a ragged sigh just as his visitor began to speak.

"Larry?"

Oh my God, it was Kitty. Of all the rotten luck in the world— she'd tell them that he'd lapsed again and then he'd be booted out of the group. Why did she always have to see him like this? She moved closer, and every footstep made him wince, the sounds slamming through his head like an ice pick. A shadow fell over him— two shadows. He closed his eyes against the double vision and cringed when he felt a gentle hand on his brow that he assumed was hers.

"It was an accident," she said softly as that hand continued to brush the sweaty hair from his face. "Larry... are you ok…? What a stupid question, of course you're not!"

His skin was pale and waxy beneath Chauncy's hand, his forehead clammy. The two exchanged a look, both glancing at the wet patch on the lawn and then back to Larry as she nodded.

"Honey," she leaned in and kissed his cheek, "we're going to get you to bed, okay?"

"W-we?"

Chauncy shook his head, putting a finger to his lips.

"I meant me... I'm going to help you back to bed, okay?" She nudged him with the toe of her boot, her voice barely a whisper now. "Larry?" Not even a flicker of movement from him now— he was passed out cold. Kitty turned to glare reproachfully at Chauncy. "Help me get him back inside. Now."