Chapter Text
The droning sound of his alarm clock was what roused Anders from his drunken slumber. He had lost count of the number of drinks at the Bergerbar the night before but he knew that it was a lot and the pounding in his head proved exactly how much he had to drink. It wasn’t enough to black out, thankfully, but it was enough to give him the hangover from hell. At least he learned two things last night: having ice down the front of your trousers was not a pleasant feeling and that his Bragi powers could be used on more than one person at a time.
That was going to be fun indeed.
As he sat up in his bed he felt the world began to spin. Okay, perhaps he was more drunk than hung over. It took him a minute when he stood up to keep his balance before he stumbled into the rest of his flat. The curtains were closed and the lights were low and yet still the amount of light in his place was making his migraine worse. It was a wonder he still drank as heavily as he did when he knew the effects of the morning after. Why couldn’t his God power include the ability to not be hung over?
When he opened his fridge he had to look away. When the fuck did his fridge get so bright? And smell awful? Anders chanced a glance in the fridge and realized he had almost nothing edible in his fridge. Perfect, he was hung over and hungry and had nothing to help cure either ailments. It seemed he was going to have to get something on the way to the office.
First things first, he needed a shower. The moment the warm water hit his skin instantly he felt more relaxed. How he wished he could stand there all day and let the water run over him but, alas, he knew he had to step out the moment his phone began to ring. He let it ring out as he stepped out of the shower, drying himself off with the fluffy white towel. His phone began to ring again as he got dressed and once again he let it go. It wasn’t until it rang a third time did he finally answer it. “Morning, Dawn,” he muttered, squeezing the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb.
“Where the HELL are you?”
“Do you think you could not yell? I’ve got a splitting headache and haven’t had my morning coffee yet.”
“Are you hung over?”
“Quite possibly. What is it that you want?”
“We have a potential client on their way in this morning and I need you here so that I can go over the details before we sit down with them but I can’t do that if YOU’RE NOT HERE!”
“Relax, Dawnsie, I’ll be there. Give me half an hour.”
“You don’t have half an hour!”
“Nonsense, Dawn, I have all the time in the world. If they get there before I do then keep them busy. Get them tea or something.”
“Anders…”
“Goodbye, Dawn.”
Anders quickly hung up before Dawn could argue anymore. It was too early and his head was in too much pain for him to try and argue with her. He let his phone hit the counter before rubbing his hand down his face. Just as he rested his elbows on the table he heard a knock on his door. His eyes shot up to the door, looking at it in confusion. Who the fuck was knocking on his door at this time?
He shrugged his shoulders and chose to ignore it. As he put on his shoes he heard whoever it was knock again. “Who the fuck?” he muttered as he stood up, walking towards the door.
The first person that came to mind was Dawn. Perhaps she was not happy with his answer and had been on her way to come grab him. “Look, Dawn, I told you I will be there in half…”
But when he wrenched the door open and saw who was standing at it, his voice faltered as he finished, “…an hour. Who are you?”
In front of him stood a young boy nor more than eight years old. His hair was a dirty blonde and his eyes a light shade of blue. He wore a red and blue shirt under a brown zip up hoodie and a pair of jeans and on his back was a black backpack. “Are you Anders Johnson?” he asked in a timid voice.
“Who wants to know?”
The boy held out an envelope to him. “I was told to give this to you.”
As soon as Anders took the envelope the boy walked in, dropping his backback by the aquarium and going to sit on the couch. “Oi, what are you doing?” Anders asked.
But the boy didn’t answer as he turned on the TV. How the hell did he know how to work his TV? Anders couldn’t even figure that out when he bought the damn thing. Then again he was drunk when he got it. Instead of asking the boy any more questions he opened the envelope, his eyes darting across the page. When he was done reading it he looked to the boy and back at the page. “The fuck?”
The note was short and was not signed. All it said was:
This is Danny Maybell and he is your son.
TBC…