Open Season [Finished]

[Casey]

Deacon Rook unlocked the deadbolt on the front door of “The Wesson”. Sure it was only two in the afternoon but it wasn’t unusual for some random local to wander in. Or husband trying to get away from his wife and kids for an hour. Ever since Harland had run off and he gain control of the bar Deacon had learned to be available and open even if the time seemed ridicules. It made picking Art up from school impossible but the kid needed exorcise anyhow. He adjusted the circle hanging on the back of the door. It looked liked some weird type of pentagram that a guy passing through had given him. Said it was for protection, he didn’t care and the usuals seemed to like it.

Walking back to the bar he quickly hopped over one handed. Ten years and you’d get to know the ins and outs of a place. Like for instance, the two shot guns on either side of the bar filled with rock salt. It was great because it didn’t kill but was much more intimidating then holding an empty gun. Pulling out at rag from his back pocket Deacon began to wipe down the bar. Now all he had to do was wait.

[Aiden]

After driving for days from Oregon to South Dakota on a supposed job, Aiden now pulled into Keystone. It wasn't too far away that the faces of America's leaders were carved into stone, and the historical value was emblazened throughout the town. It was a quiet couple of weeks, so he hoped that this tip he was given was worthwhile, something that would keep him busy, and fulfill his need for a decent hunt. Things had been strange ever since his call from some guy named Casey, and even the demon count seemed to diminish since then, at least on Aiden's end. It was nice, but Aiden needed something to do, he was going stir crazy out of not being able to save someone, to rid the world of something evil. A Hunter was accustomed to field-work, and not being in the field was nearly torture.

He had instructions to head to The Wesson, a bar and inn, and a place he could stay. If there was supernatural activity in this town, it was definitely going by unnoticed, since the populus was going about their daily lives. It took a bit, but Aiden finally pulled into The Wesson, killing the engine, and running a hand through his hair. He climbed out of the car, straightening the button-up shirt that was rested on top of a black tee, then closed the door, and headed inside. The bar was cool, empty, aside from the bartender.

In Aiden's pocket sat a fake I.D., so he wasn't worried about getting a drink, or rather, not being able to get one. He walked over, and sat down in front of the bar, tapping it to get the bartender's attention. "I'll have whatever is on draft," Aiden said, looking over the guy, and pulling out the fake I.D.

[Jefferson]

Jefferson was driving his car along the streets of Keystone. His mind was wondering away, not thinking about the job at hand. He was in a relaxed state ever since he entered Keystone, and he enjoyed it very much. Driving along the road, wheels turning the dirt, one hand on the steering wheel, and the other out the window. This was the life. A man had opened the door to what looked like a bar and inn. Perfect. Booze and a place to sleep.

Jefferson parked his car on the side of the curb. Jefferson walked up to the bar and read the sign. The Wesson. Cute name. He walked into the bar and stared around. There wasn't much to see anyway. Jefferson sat down at the bar and ordered a beer. As he waited for his drink, Jefferson's eyes focused on the other side of the bar.

Jefferson noticed Aiden ordering a drink. Jefferson laughed and walked up to him. After a quick salutation, he took Aiden's fake i.d. Looking at the bartender, Jefferson gave him the i.d.

"Don't give the kid a drink. He's a minor, and he should know better."

[Casey]

Deacon raised an eyebrow when the door opened. He’d had people come in early but never right after he’d opened. The kid, and he knew it was a kid, walked up and sat at the bar with an ID at the ready. Obviously this kid was used to getting drinks. He reached under the bar and placed a chilled glass in front of the kid and pulled a random soda. Deacon worked in a tourist town, every other teenager was trying to look twenty one. If he wouldn’t give Art alcohol he wouldn’t give it to a kid with a fake ID. Didn’t matter that Art never drank.

“Nice try,” He said as he poured the soda, “but it’s still early kiddo. Try again in a couple hours.”

He watched as another man walked in and eventually snag the ID out of the kid’s hand. Deacon gave the man a mock salute back and pulled out another glass. Taking a moment to laugh at the younger’s misfortune, he turned to the older man.

“You on the hand can have whatever you want.”

[Jefferson]

Jefferson laughed at Aiden. He didn't mean to, but it was just too damn funny. Jefferson ordered a beer, and took small sips in front of Aiden. He couldn't help it. It really was just too damn funny. He knew Aiden would start to get mad, but he didn't care. Laughing at the youngster's misfortune, Jefferson began to start a conversation with him.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't little Aiden. What are you doing here kid. Going out to a party. That's right, your not the social type. Sucks for you. You can get alcohol at parties you know. You can also get arrested, but at least you'll be too fucked up to give a damn."

[Aiden]

The Wesson was definitely a peculiar place. After walking in and seeing something on the door, Aiden found it to be a pentagram. Not exactly an immediate tip-off that someone was a Hunter, not to mention that a demon could still get in, but still peculiar nonetheless. The place was empty for the hustle and bustle he saw in town on the way in, but it was appreciated; after driving for days, the last thing he wanted to do was to deal with drunk, old, fat men that thought they had a hold on reality. Even if the bartender gave Aiden a look that didn't exactly please him. He took his seat, looking over the man. Didn't look the Hunter type, but then again, neither did Aiden.

He heard the door open behind him, but he was too busy frowning at the bartender. Aiden was young, yes, but he'd been able to pass for twenty-one at other bars without the need for his I.D. This guy was good, if that was what it was, and now he was out of the long overdue drink that he deserved for driving all the way here for some stupid job. He was about to put the I.D. away when it was snatched out of his hand, and he heard a familiar voice. Turning to find Jefferson, his frown only grew.

"Frickin' bastard," Aiden grumbled under his breath, pouring the dark soda into the glass and chugging it down. "Drive my ass all the way out here, and you have to be all father-like and not let me have a damn beer. What are you doing here, anyway?" He asked. What were the odds that they were both called for the same job? "Not some mysterious tip, too, was it?"

[Casey]

From what Deacon could see, the two of them knew each other more than running into each other at the same rest stops. Not family but something like it. He leaned back against the gantry as he waited for the older man to order. While listening to them talk Deacon couldn’t help but smile at the playful jabs. Nope not family, no way the kid would get away with half of what he was saying.

As a bartender he had prided himself of being able to figure people out. After a decade he could pick up on the liars and those with egos. It helped when you had a bar full of moping patrons to know who actually had real problems. He also knew when something was being left out. Such was the case when the two start talking about why they were at The Wesson. Deacon found himself leaning slightly forward as he listened.

“Tip?” He asked, making it no secret he’d been listening, “This ain’t the kind of place someone gets a tip to go too. Well unless you in the police department.”

Deacon didn’t care if they thought he was rude. They were in public and in his bar. If they didn’t want him hearing, they’d have to whisper.

[Jefferson]

Jefferson realized he hadn't ordered anything to drink. He began to think on what he wanted. He stared at Aiden and felt bad. He knew the kid already drank, but he didn't really like the idea. Still, if Aiden wasn't having a beer, or whiskey, then he wouldn't either.

"I'll have whatever Aiden's having. No alcohol for me today. I need to be sober for what I'm about to do." Jefferson said with a smile. But what did he have to do? His call only told him to come to Keystone to check something out, and that was it.

"Listen, we'll tell you what the tip is if we feel like it. I don't want to sound rude, but I think Aiden and I have some catching up to do." Jefferson said. Turning to Aiden, he continued talking. "So kid, when did you get your call?"

[Aiden]

Deacon interrupting them wasn't something that Aiden was surprised at--it was a batender's job to listen and talk with their customers, to be charismatic and friendly, as to earn tips. When they heard something along the lines of someone being sent there to investigate, it usually only further sparked their interest in their customer, because they didn't think about demons or werewolves, but of crimes or criminals hiding in the city. Thus when he interruped, Aiden ignored him. As far as he knew, the guy wasn't a Hunter, and Aiden wasn't about to spend forever explaining what was real and what wasn't, and the differences between the lore and reality.

Jeff had a point, anyway; Aiden shouldn't be drinking either, not if he was about to go on a job and do a hunt. He threw back the rest of the sweet soda, and set the frosty glass down on the bartop with a clank. Whatever it was, Aiden didn't see any signs of a monster on the way in. Did that mean it was a spirit somewhere, maybe a sighting of something they were supposed to go off of? The tip was anonymous, which brought his mind back to that Casey guy. What the hell was up with that, and how was he supposed to start some faction? He didn't know any other Hunters in Portland, aside from the drifters, and he would hate to bring people into that kind of life. He knew what it did to a person, first hand.

It was time to get serious, to talk about the job, and that was evident in a change in Aiden's demeanor. He straightened, turned, and looked at his older counterpart. "A couple of days ago, back on Sunday night. Some tip, low voice I didn't recognize, not a number I have, told me that there was a significant rise in sup--...uh, activity in Keystone that I should check out. Nothing about other Hunters, but if its that dangerous, I'm sure the help could be used. What about you, you know anything more than me? Pick something up in town?"

[Casey]

When the man finally gave him an older Deacon slowly pushed himself off the gantry. Since there were only two costumers and one had already been served he saw no reason to rush. As he poured another soda he listened to the man’s comment. Despite himself he chuckled, dude was a pulling an Alpha male. Sure he saw it all the time, bars practically had a quota to have a few buzzing around but Deacon had a few years on him. Then again he was also apparently playing Dad to the kid. For the moment he’d let it pass.

“Whatever dude,” He smiled as he set the can next to the glass, “Just tryin’ to be friendly and join the conversation , that’s all. ‘Sides, it’s kind of hard not to hear ya.”

He moved back to the gantry this time watching the two in the mirror. Figured it would give them the illusion of privacy. Of course he was still listening. They were told to come to the Wesson, they didn’t know by who and what was this about hunters? And danger? It wasn’t hunting season, not by a long shot. No animal attacks to spurn a free for all in the forests. His mind briefly strayed to something he’d heard Harland rave about. Shaking his head he began to run a rag around some already clean glasses, too young.

“What now?” He mumbled when the telephone rang. Deacon set the glass down and hopped over the bar toward the phone. Before he rounded the corner he turned to his customers and said, “If you two bolt, leave a pair of fives on the counter.”

“Wesson,” Deacon answered on the fourth ring. He raised an eyebrow as the caller spoke. “Sure, I’ll take a message,” he said as he picked up the pen and began scribbling on the pad next to the phone, “Go ahead.”

He hung up as soon as the caller was finished. Carefully he ripped the note off the pad and let the pen dangled from the cord it was tied to. Walking back into the main room he rubbed the back of his head. Even tor the Wesson it was a bit, strange.

“Ya’ll wouldn’t happen to be Aiden and Jefferson, would ya?”

[Jefferson]

Jefferson stared at the bartender for a long time. He knew that they were speaking too loud, but the man could at least pertend to not hear a word. He didn't blame him though. It must be dull being a bartender. Jefferson sure couldn't be one, especially since most people became too emotionally depressed after a couple of drinks. Jefferson quit the staring and turned back to Aiden. Aiden was telling him about a call he recieved. By the sound of it, it was the same call Jefferson had recieved. Aiden had asked him if Jefferson had figured anything out.

"Not a clue. I just arrived here kid. My guess is that whatever we are here to catch either doesn't exist or has just quit. My bet is on the former. I was actually hoping you would have a clue on what was going on, seeing as you're a big time hunter and all." Jefferson ruffled Aiden's hair at the last line. He couldn't help himself. He knew Aiden had a short temper, and that was why he loved messing with the kid.

When Deacon had left to answer the call, Jefferson began to feel nervous. He couldn't understand why this feeling was coming to him, but it must hace been because it reminded him of that infamous phone call from Dean. All phones that rang did that to him. He couldn't help himself, it was just a force of habit. Deacon returned and asked if either of them were Aiden and Jefferson. Jefferson stared at Aiden with an eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, that's us. Unless your looking for two other people by our names who also know each other, but that highly unlikely."

[Aiden]

Turning when the batender spoke again, Aiden shot a glance towards Jefferson. It was true that he had a tendency to speak profanities, and that he was short with Jeff, but that didn't mean that he couldn't be nice, so he looked back at Deacon, and gave a small smile. "Sorry about him, just ignore the old man. Can I get another?" He said, sliding his glass across the bar top. Not only would this distract Deacon from their conversation, but what was the harm in a little extra caffiene. With the hunt coming up, Aiden felt his familiar sense of anxiety and excitement brewing, something he felt for many years now. However, Jeff wasn't much help in the area of giving information.

Nothing, the guy had nothing, Aiden had nothing, and they were in a town in the middle of nowhere chasing a false lead. Jeff was probably right; the thing was either fake, or it moved on by now, because there weren't any relevant calls on the police scanner, people weren't in fear, and the town was calm. It didn't make sense. Why else would they be called here, both of them, he didn't know. His brows furrowed when Jeff called out his skills, and he smacked away his hand from messing up his hair. "Come on, man, who is the adult here? I've got nothing, every angle I've came at this has left me with absolutely nothing to go off of." This bothered him; why had he spent days coming here?

His brows furrowed again when the bartender called out their names, and Aiden turned in his direction. Jeff answered for them that they were indeed Aiden and Jeff, and he watched the bartender approach them. "Okay, I really don't like this job-through-phone-calls business. You have a message for us or something?"

[Casey]

Deacon huffed and slide back over the bar. At the moment his mind was still swimming from the message. To delay time he poured the kid another drink before pulling the message out of his pocket. Holding it between his fingers he leaned against the bar. He looked at the two, “I hope this makes sense to you, cause it’s lost on me.”

Unfolding the paper he read out loud, “Jefferson, sit tight and buy a few rounds. Aiden, bring silver and a flashlight,” he paused for a second and looked at them, “and he said I should trust you.”

“Usually I don’t led my life by mysterious phone calls,” he said straightening up, “but I’m curious. Mind to fill a fellow in?”

Deacon glanced at the clock on the wall. He didn’t plan on getting an answer, so it didn’t hurt to ask. Since the caller had included him in the message he figured he had some right to know what was going on.

“Oh,” he said snapping his fingers, “the guy said his name’s Casey.”

[Aiden]

Hearing the message was for them, Aiden slung the fresh liquid in his body back into his throat, as if it were alcohol that would ease his mind. Things recently were strange, starting with the news of the disappearance of Sam and Dean, then the phone call from Casey, and being told to start a group of Hunters back home in Portland. What the hell was going on that groups of Hunters needed to be formed so quickly, there wasn't nearly that much supernatural activity across the country. And now they were chasing a job through phone calls that, in Aiden's defense, were untraceable, and it seemed as if the job was nonexistant. Now he was sitting in a bar, coincidentally with Jefferson, with a message from someone, probably the person that sent them on this chase.

The message was just as unsettling, more so when he found it was from Casey. Something that needed silver...that meant a couple of things, mainly shapeshifters and werewolves. And Jeff, sitting there and drinking? How was that going to help anything? Aiden sighed, and looked at Deacon. "All right, man, if you're going to trust us, we've got something to tell you, something that you won't like. But first, I'll be back," He said, going to his car momentarily.

Returning, he set the gun that Jefferson had given him years ago on top of the bar, along with a couple of clips of silver bullets, and his flashlight. It was small, police-grade, with a bright LED lightbulb. He looked at Jeff quickly, and without waiting for his permission, started his explanation. "Alright, so you heard us when we said Hunters...we don't hunt animals..." He sighed, and then looked directly into Deacon's eyes to show he wasn't lying. "We hunt the supernatural."

[Jefferson]

Jefferson did not wait for Deacon to start laughing. He would start laughing if some kid had told him that supernatural beings existed. Jefferson continued on with the explanation.

"Aiden is correct. We haunt the actual bad guys of this world. Just imagine every ghost story you had ever heard of, well they are real. Of course the method of killing is completly different, but the monsters are real." Jefferson stopped at this point. He didn't see any reason to continue explaining. It wasn't as if the guy was going to help them in the hunt.

Jefferson ordered another drink for him and Aiden. He wasn't too keen on listening to Casey, but what other choice did he have. Aiden had returned with the gun he had given him all those years ago. He was about to reference the gun when Aiden set down the silver bullets. This snapped him back to the present.

"Silver. Damn it. That means it would have to be a shape shifter or a werewolf." Jefferson glanced over at Deacon. For all he knew, Deacon could be the creature they were hunting. He nodded his head toward Deacon, indicating to Aiden that he thought Deacon may be the bad guy.