Ace in the Hole [Finished]

[Casey]

Arthur Rook sat on the end of the bar reading from a supernatural text. It should have been uncomfortable but he knew the place, almost as well as his brother. The Wesson in many was more his home than his parents house. Deacon had been watching him at the bar since he’d taken over. He had a permanent room upstairs which had most of his school books. At one a clock on a week day it was also much quieter than his parent’s place.

When the sound from the stair case echoed through the place his head jerked up. Then he remembered Jefferson and Aiden. He wasn’t used to having anyone else in the building. They were there under usual circumstances as well. Shifters and mystery phone calls, both of which had been explained by Deacon at a very high speed. If anyone else had tried to convince him of monsters, he’d have walked in the opposite direction. Deacon, he believed without a doubt.

Aiden was the one that stepped around the corner. He hadn’t talked to Aiden much but he looked okay, intense at times but okay. The only thing he was sure about the older boy was that he was engaged in a battle with his brother. Deacon had a strict no minors drinking policy and Aiden was a minor. Even teens that could drink legally in their own country got no love. Man, did that ever piss off the Brits. Aiden though, was persistent.

Art glanced up and met Aiden’s eyes. He shifted uncomfortably until he realized it wasn’t him being stared at, it was bar. Disturbingly longingly too in his opinion. Sighing he looked back down at his book before deciding to speak.

“I’m gonna make a comment so, please, don’t shoot me or anything,” he said in a bored monotone that came up every time he was reading, “but one, it’s nowhere near four and two, Deacon would kill ya.”

[Aiden]

Two new recruits was the result of boredom, arguing, and trying to get a beer. A mysterious call telling them to help hunt, and suddenly new hunters were popping up right and left. And after some deliberation, it was decided that they were to go with Aiden to Portland to be trained, and to learn the ways of a hunter. This was...insane. The brothers go missing, so now the country becomes hunter central, and Aiden is the one orchestrating it? He hadn't been very happy about that at first, but now he was more focused on trying to figure out how to get it done; train them, teach them, hunt with them. But in order to do so, he needed his full stock of books and weapons, and at the moment, one of his books was missing.

Aiden had seen Art a couple of times, and hadn't made a point to talk to the kid--he was there for business, and the less people involved, the better. However, it was Art who held his book, and not to far from him was the bar. With Deacon nowhere in sight. The prospect grew exponentially in his head, it was time to finally get the alcohol he deserved. He began taking a few steps over towards the back of the bar, when Deacon's brother warned him not to. Not this crap again.

"First off, thats my book. Secondly, I don't really care--I've been drinking for a while, I'm going to keep doing it, and Deacon isn't around." He shot back, moving behind the bar, and searching through the bottles that lay before him. "Now, can you hand that over please? Teagan and Yuki are going to need it."

[Casey]

His book? Art looked up at him in surprise then down at his book. He carefully flipped it back to the beginning to check the fourth page for its missing corner, which wasn’t missing. Then after gently closing it, he checked for the marking on the back. His fingers ran over the undamaged leather smoothly.

“Sorry,” he said placing the book in front of the older boy. Art had a tremendous amount of respect for people’s texts, especially old ones. By having Aiden’s without permission he felt like he was breaking the law.

“It’s the same as one of mine, we must have doubles,” he began feeling the need to explain himself, “I left it on the bar last night with some others. Deacon must have grabbed yours when he put the rest of him in my room.” Art stopped. Where was that book then? Must be under the other grimoire, but he was still worried.

Shifting his thoughts from the books he looked back behind him at the bar. “Figured I’d give you fair warning. Cleaning up blood is a pain. Doesn’t matter if it’s yours or Deacon’s it’s still a bitch.”

Hopping down off the bar he looked up at Aiden, “Don’t matter how long you been drinkin’ or if you’re gonna keep on drinking. Deacon’ll skin ya if he sees you. Well not really, but he’ll get pissed.”

He reached down under the bar and picked up his bag. After a moment of searching he pulled out another book. Art set it on the counter before jumping back up. Finally he opened it on his lap, readjusted his glasses and began reading again.

[Aiden]

He watched carefully as Art examined the book, his book, and waited for the return. His texts on the supernatural were vital, at least to him. After all, it was how he learned the weaknesses, causes, and stories behind nearly everything. All the folklore and the tales, the spells and incantations. He would kill if someone stole on of his books, especially the old leather-bound that Art now held. Searching for a drink while waiting, Aiden decided on a cold bottle of some sort of brewed beer, some local brand. He set it back--best to go with something he knew-- so he grabbed a bottle with a recognizable label, and set it down on the bartop.

Doubles? "You collect books on supernatural beings? What are you, some hopeful that wants to become a hunter? Trust me, you don't want to. Just stay in school...or something," Aiden said, waving his hand carelessly. "Anyway, I need that. It was given to me, and if I lose it, I'd probably kill myself." He said as the book was given back to him. He set it aside, next to the bottle, and grabbed the bottle opener, forcing the metal cap off with a slight pop. Cool air was visible in the opening, and Aiden was about to drink when Art spoke again.

"Does the guy not listen? I have fake IDs out the whazoo, and if they're good enough to fools feds, they can fool cops. And he won't see me if he's not around, now will he?" He asked, gesturing his arms outward to emphasize Deacon's not being there. "Seriously, both of you worry too much. No one's blood is going to be split here," He turned to move back around the bar, bottle in hand, the other reaching out for the book. Time to go pack up and get ready to head out, Teagan and Yuki in tow.

[Casey]

“I’m not planning on dropping out of school just because some freak impossibility interrupted my life,” Art said defensively then dropped back down to calmer, explanatory tone, “I don’t collect books on the supernatural. I collect old books. Some of them happen to be about the supernatural. The copy I have of that one,” he motioned to the book in Aiden’s hand, “Was given to me with a bunch of others by a guy that passed through. Saw me lookin’ at them and let me read through a couple. Then left ‘em hear with a note and that thing on the back of the door.”

He looked back down at the book in his lap. Carefully he turned a page before speaking again, “Not planning on becoming a hunter, but that doesn’t mean I should just hide under a rock. Naivety may equal bliss but it doesn’t matter how blissed out you are if you’re dead. Who knows, maybe I could help you guys too.”

Art stopped reading to watch Aiden dig around behind the bar. Worst comes to worst the guy was amusing. The collection of fake ids did sound impressive. More power to him for fooling feds but he doubted they had the experience his brother had with ids.

“It’s weird,” he mused half to himself, “that’s the one thing he’s a stickler on. You could get away with just about anything else and he wouldn’t bat an eye. Got no clue why.”

Then Aiden did the worst possible thing ever. He tempted fate by saying the bartender wasn’t there. As he rounded the bar for his book, Art looked into the mirror. Barely visible, in the door way that lead to the phone was a very pissed off man.

“Uh, Aiden, how sure are you that Deacon’s not around?”

[Aiden]

He wasn't going to sit there and argue politics with the guy; hunting wasn't a life one should willingly choose, if they did they would quickly find that they liked a normal, sane life better. All that happened now was death, destruction, misery, pain, and creatures that many believed didn't exist. Aiden was thrust into this life with no choice, aside from rotting in foster care homes and living a quiet, miserable life reflecting on his parents' deaths all the time, but he had welcomed hunting with open arms, and now he saw it as a way to avenge his parents. The thing that killed his parents was dead, but he could still save countless others. Not to mention Ariel was still alive, responsible for Malcolm's death, which Aiden was far more than obligated to avenge. If anything, he was to die in the process of fighting her.

It only then clicked in Aiden's head what was hanging on the back of the door, even after being there for so long. Maybe it was because he was just around those things so much, but looking at it now, he could definitely see the sign that hung on the back. The guy that came through, left the books, had to have been a hunter, but why would he leave things here of all places? It just didn't make sense; as a hunter, Aiden knew that you clung to as many of the resources that you had. Leaving books meant leaving leads on creatures, unless the guy was well-versed on every single living supernatural being. "We don't need your help; we can handle ourselves," he said coolly in response to Art. "We've been doing this for years and years."

Here was the turning point, here he was going to show Art that he wasn't as stupid as he looked, and that his observation skills were up to par. He set the bottle down on the table, and then turned towards the doorway. "Oh, no, I know he's here, I saw him in the mirror. Don't tell me you only just noticed?" He held out his arms, as if calling for attack. Aiden knew that if it came down to a fist fight, he would be the victor. "And I'm sure that he's seeing red right now. I don't really see what the big issue is, Deacon. There aren't any cops here," he said, glancing around the empty bar for effect. "In fact, I think we're the first customers you've had since we got here. Now, I'm just going to take this bottle, go back to my room, and there isn't going to be anything said."

[Casey]

Art held up a hand in defense. He figured he’d be nice, but the guy had his own ideas. If he didn’t want his help, fine by him.

“I never meant to imply you couldn’t take care of yourself,” he looked up at where his brother was standing, “Kinda figured you could after the thing with the shapeshifters. Figured I’d offer you a hand since I’m reading these anyway. I’m good with books.”

He snorted involuntarily at Aiden’s next comment, “Yeah, I just noticed him. My mind goes one track when I’m reading. Yet another reason why I’m not going to be a hunter.”

He watched as the sliver of his brother moved out of view. Even after craning his neck he couldn’t see him anymore. Art carefully put the book next to him and quietly slid off the bar. He put a finger to his lips before crossing the bar carefully. Peering around the corner to phone cove he saw no one. There were no windows or doors in the room, the only way in and out was the doorway Art was standing in.

“Damn it,” he said relaxing his shoulders and glancing back at Aiden, “Someday I’m gonna figure out how he does that.”





Deacon wasn’t dumb and he knew mini hunter wasn’t either. He figured that Aiden would spot him or know he was there with his freakin’ spider sense. So when he mocked him it was water of the ducks back. What upset him was totally different.

The first was forgivable, second not so much. Aiden and Art both had problems with talking to people. Him because he was all business mister hunter boy. Art because if it didn’t come with subtitles he would look at it weird. So of course Aiden was going to rub him the wrong way for how he treated his brother. For all he knew Art was rubbing the other boy the wrong way.

His constant rebel to his one rule, no drinking in the bar. Why the hell he was, maybe he didn’t get enough hugs as a kid. Still he was being boarded (for free), getting fed (for free) and getting drinks (for free). Deacon would admit he came off as a bit of an over bearing ass when it came to removing every alcoholic drink within Aiden’s grasp but the kid did have his respect. He just be more likely to show it if the kid would return the favor.

He silently stepped into the cove and used a trick he’d learned from Harland. Before he left Harland always had a way of popping in and out of places, across the bar or upstairs in seconds. The one good he did Deacon before leaving was showing him how he did it. By the time Art was looking around the corner, he was gone. Carefully he stepped into the store room, then loudly into the bar.

“Customers pay,” He said flatly, chuckling when Art jumped across the room, “You, Kiddo, are a guest with bad manners.”

[Aiden]

If there was one thing that he always tried to avoid, it was getting others dragged into the whole spectrum of ghosts, vampires, and the rest of the beings that existed in the world that most normal people liked to believe fake. Especially children or teens, because Aiden knew personally just how much one lost when stepping into this life; innocence, their childhood, freedom, and so many other things people took for granted. There wasn't a day that passed in which at some point, even for the most briefest of seconds, that he didn't wish for a normal life where he could go to school, graduate, hold a job, have a family. Art said that he collected books, some of which told folklore about mythical beings, and that was enough to get someone interested. If Aiden could have anything, it would be to have young people live life without knowing about the monsters that went bump in the night.

Glancing over to Art, he gave him a sad smile before reverting back to his hard-ass state. "You'll need to be good with much more than books to offer us a hand without being hurt. We can't have you being a liability now, can we?" Then he spotted Deacon, and he knew that a whole new light would be shed on his afternoon. He'd probably come sprinting into the room, and shatter the bottle to prevent him from drinking it. Thankfully, Art's words drifted into Aiden's mind, registering their meaning, and he turned back and smiled. "If I could ask you one thing, it would be to keep your word," he said sincerely.

Scoffing, Aiden nearly glared at Deacon. "A guest with bad manners? Remind me, who was it that saved your ass?" he asked, reminded of the answer as the scratches on his face throbbed slightly. "You see what I do for a living, and somehow that doesn't deserve a drink when the day is done. Really, I don't understand it."

[Casey]

Art scoffed at Aiden’s comment. “I’m not good with books,” he straightened and began to cross the bar in a power walk, “I have an eidetic memory, can compare and contrast archetypes from at least twelve different cultures, and recognize just about any quote you throw at me. Pop culture included. And while I am oblivious, I am not defenseless.” He stopped within Aiden’s striking distance and blink rapidly. “Uh,” Art back up slightly looking down, “I, um, sorry.”

From behind the bar Deacon let out a deep laugh. “Puppy faces the bulldog,” he sighed, “And then realized the size difference. Nice going Arty.” Deacon glanced at Aiden trying to see if he’d have to plan a funeral.

Art cringed at his nickname. His parents called him that because they thought it was cute. Deacon used it when he did something stupid or embarrassing. At the moment he felt like both.

“Not that I don’t appreciate what you did,” Deacon began, “but I’m paying you back in plenty of other ways. Yes, you saved my ass but I wasn’t exactly sitting on it when you did now was I?”

The second bit of Aiden’s statement saddened him. He looked up at the old picture of Harland before continuing.

“Yeah, I saw it and in certain circles that would warrant beer until you can’t remember,” He spoke in a hollow tone staring straight at Aiden, “That’s not a road you want to go down kiddo. I’ve seen folks, men and women alike, drink away a hard day. All of them had their own problems and dried out more than enough bottles. Some went to war, plenty saw death and killing, few just had bad luck. I’m not supporting that therapy kiddo,” he looked down at his hands then returned to his annoying and upbeat self, “Besides, you, young sir are under age.”

Then he had the stupidest idea ever. Even stupider is he didn’t ignore it.

“But,” he looked at Aiden with the devil’s smile in his eyes, “If you think you can drink like an adult, and want to in my bar you got to prove it.”

[Aiden]

So the kid was a nerd, big deal. Still, Aiden was now slightly irritated--that was becoming quite easily done while he was in the Wesson--but now he needed to see if the kid was telling the truth. Looking down at him, though only standing a couple of inches or so taller, he tilted his head to the side, and recited the line from memory. "I am but mad north-north-west: when the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw." This was said partially to poke fun at Art and his slight insanity, and also to see if he really could recognize any quote thrown at him. "And you, Mister Rook, are contradicting yourself," he said, crossing his arms. "Are you, or aren't you good with books?" Now Aiden was just messing around, this was about entertainment more than proving a point and telling him not to hunt.

He turned and looked at the eldest Rook, his face blank. "True, but Jefferson and I could have handled it, we didn't ask you to go after it yourself," Aiden retorted, perfectly justified. But Deacon was also right; he was providing food, shelter, and information when he could easily tell them to up and leave. "Not to mention you had your work cut out for you; we told you how they were killed. Without us, you would have been toast," he added, simply looking away. He desperately wanted to leave, go for a drive, but at the moment, he knew that Deacon was too caught up with him to do so. Instead, he'd have to sit there and argue.

"I've been on the road for a while, and trust me, I know where I'm going," he replied, using Deacon's analogy. "I can handle myself, I know my limits, and I'm not some stupid drunk that goes and does something regrettable or trashing the place." Aiden was about to take himself up on his going for a ride offer when Deacon's voice...there was something different...prove it? "How so?" Aiden asked, turning back to the bartender and dropping his arms. "What are we talking?"

[Casey]

He hadn’t expected Aiden to test what his claim of a good memory. Crossing his arms Art looked up at the older and taller boy. This wasn’t a battle of might, it was of minds. One which Art had a chance at winning.

“You, princox,” he responded, showing his knowledge and testing Aiden’s, “Hamlet, please. I’ve know Shakespeare since I was ten. Do you want me to tell you the exact act, scene and line as well?”

“Furthermore,” Art gently pushed Aiden’s hand away before setting it on his hip, “I did not contradict myself. Saying I’m ‘good’ with books is like saying you’re kind of an ass. I’m the best damn person you’ll ever meet with books on either side of the side of the Mississippi that doesn’t have gray or balding hair.”

This time he didn’t back down. The first time had been an overreaction. Aiden had unknowingly declared war. No one insulted Art’s books or his understanding of them. He could be corrected, informed or questioned but not degraded.

“No some stupid drunk yet,” Deacon said breaking in for his brother’s sake, “And if you did mess up my place I’d make you clean it up.”

hen Aiden’s attention was back on him. Or more on what he had said about proving it. Deacon smiled broadly and his head tilted backward slightly. A chuckle emanated deep in his chest as he lazily scratched his chin.

“Just a little challenge kiddo,” he continued smiling mischievously, “You win you can drink here. Until the cows come home and even after.”

His head lulled lazily back down and his smile turned into a devilish half smirk, “You lose though and you don’t even try and get a sip of alcohol here again until you’re the big two-one. How’s that sound?”

[Aiden]

Traversing the country in nothing more than a car for long stretches of time for what seemed like years, Aiden had time to read. If it wasn't something to due with research, it was for leisure, and Aiden was a secret nerd for the classics. This included Shakespeare, and although the line that Art quoted wasn't from his favorite, and nor was it from the most masculine book, Aiden recognized it right away because of the strange vocabulary. Unknowingly, Art gave it away with that choice of line. "You know what? Yes, yes please do Mr. Photographic. And that is Romeo and Juliet, stupid story, they're both so naive," Aiden mused, thinking back to the play. If they'd just been more careful, neither would have died. Pity.

Staying put while Art stood, he stared down, and held up his hands. "Whoa there, killer, actually you did. First you say 'I'm good with books,' and then not thirty seconds later you say, 'I'm not good with books,'" he said, slightly imitating Art's voice. "That, my friend, is a contradiction. I thought you were the little booky over here? And trust me, I know I'm an ass, but its for my own good, but thanks for pointing out the obvious." Both were irritated now, but Aiden not as much as Art. Aiden only pointed out what he observed and heard, and after all, Art had challenged him in a sense, and if the guy was telling him he could name a line, Aiden had to give him a line, simple as that.

"Out with it already, what's the frickin' challenge?" If he could do this and win, then he could rub it in Deacon's face as long as he was there. "Yeah, yeah, I agree to the conditions. It doesn't matter though, I don't plan on hanging around here much longer, and once I leave, I doubt I'll be back. West coast, have to represent," he said, a little passionately. He'd been born on the west coast, the pride was enstilled in him. "Any day now, old man."

[Casey]

Art sighed and listed the details in a bored voice, “Act two, scene two, line three hundred and sixty nine through three hundred and seventy. Previous line is spoken by Guildenstern, ‘In what way, my dear lord?’. Following line is spoken by Polonius after he enters, ‘Well be with you, gentlemen!’. It’s on page seventy nine of my book but the schools copy is sixty one, no annotations.”

Yet for all of his previous ferocity Art was easily derailed by the comment about Romeo and Juliet. His eyes unfocused and he looked off passed Aiden trance like.

“You know, I never did like it either,” he sighed, “I don’t understand how people think it’s romantic to compare relationships to that of a guy who literal was in love with another woman when he met Juliet and then was head over heels in like two minutes with her. Then there’s the whole thing with families hating each other. Their deaths were so stupid, if they’d like waited five minutes the whole mess could have been avoided.”

He probably would have kept rambling but the older boy interrupted him, pointing out his previous statements. Art carefully sifted through the whole conversation he’d had only to find he had said he was good with books. Aiden was right and he was correcting his error. Any other anger he had began to quickly disappear.

“I was being modest,” Art awkwardly tried defending himself, “When you said it, it was condescending.”

Biting his lip he backed way saying, “I’m just gonna go sit over there and try to turn invisible until I die of embarrassment.”

“I think hunger will get to you first Arty,” Deacon said shaking his head.
“Old man?” He raised an eyebrow at Aiden, “I’m older not old in general. Seeing as that you’re in a hurry now I’ll try not to waste your time. Man, no one can appreciate a good set up anymore.”

Deacon turned around and went to the gentry. He pulled out two glasses off the rack and set on the bar in front of Aiden. Taking the one still in his hands he filled it a third of the way with ice and topped it off with water. When it was full he set it on the kids left and the process with the other one and set it to his right.

“The games simple,” he said after he was done, “You have to drink one shot, no more than that. After drinking the shot you aren’t allowed to pick up either of these glasses. If you do, you automatically lose. You also have to keep a straight face for five minutes. Your lips can’t tremble, eyes can’t tear up, anything like that. If you do,” he paused to emphasize the redundancy, “you automatically lose. Think you can do that?”

[Aiden]

Just because Aiden knew the classics didn't mean that he would jump into some analytical conversation about archetypes and foreshadowing and what-ifs and should-haves. In fact, Aiden read for the pleasure, for the stimulation, and while he made use of all the devices, it didn't mean that it bothered him at all. He had simply stated his views on the play, and now that it was done, so was the conversation on Romeo and Juliet. However, Art seemed adamant on continuing, so Aiden, subtly, ignored the rest of what he said. The Rook's weren't exactly at the top of his list for the people to pay attention to, especially after Art called him out about being wrong when it had been Art that was actually mistaken.

"I don't care about set-ups, old man," Aiden said with emphasis. He listened to the rules, and right off the bat he knew what he was playing at. "So what, you're going to cheat and give me some rotting, three-hundred year old mead or something? Like that's a fair challenge." If that was how it was going to be, Aiden knew better than to try, he could always sneak down after Deacon had gone to sleep, knick some bottles, and stash them in the trunk of his car where Deacon couldn't get them back. "Nice try, but I'm not stupid you know."

[Casey]

Deacon blinked slowly with a small smile. He wasn’t sure if a blink could be mocking but he felt that his was. All he need was the halo his ex-girlfriend used to pull out. Too bad he could never work the look.

“I would never cheat,” he said softly as if to a child, “I promise none of the ingredients in this drink are older then you.” He started to mix the drink when he stopped and looked at Aiden, “You are eighteen, right? Yeah, you are. Like I said your older than the drink. No three hundred year old mead I promise. The whiskey’s only sixteen.”

He mixed a jigger of whiskey with a pony of clear liquid. Deacon pulled the glass out from under the bar and held it up to the light. A quick sloshing until the two fluids mixed. Then he took it back under the bar to add two drops of another liquid.

“I promise you this is a drink any man could order,” He glanced up at Aiden, “Think you can handle it kiddo?”

If Aiden was going to make shots at his age, Deacon was going to do it right back. Besides thirty-one wasn’t old, forty-one maybe. Come on his twenties where just behind the corner.