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Post by Aiden on May 3, 2009 0:51:41 GMT -5
"I know what you are, you're a goddamn shapeshifter," Aiden growled as he fought to keep the hands from putting more pressure on his throat. It would only be a few more pounds of pressure exerted before it was enough to kill him, cut off his air supply. The shape-shifter smirked, revealing her--or rather, its-- brilliantly white and straight teeth, outlined by lips painted with lipstick.
"You're good, Hunter."
"You're good, you monster, I'll give you that," Aiden started, choking out from beneath the rough, but feminine hands. He inhaled sharply, swung his arms around and jammed them down on the arms of the shifter, breaking the hold. His fist collided hard with her face, sending the shifter stumbling back. From the back of his jeans, Aiden pulled out his gun, and without aiming shot three times, and three silver bullets flew into the heart of the monster. "But I'm better."
With a sigh, Aiden trudged back through the forest, following the same path he ran in on. Tracking a shape-shifter for three days was a little exhausting, so he took his time making his way back to his car. Five casualities, a few cuts and bruises on himself, not to mention a sore windpipe, and a couple of scared civilians were the result of this one being, although Aiden experienced worse in the past. Hell, demons could be nastier than that, especially if that was their intent. Portland didn't harbor a large population of demons, though, so Aiden was stuck running after an assortment of supernatural beings.
Coming back to the road, Aiden popped the trunk of the car, pulled the siding of the inside off, and replaced his gun in its designated spot, a small indentation in the foam that was once again hidden from view after the siding was replaced, disguising the trunk as any other ordinary car looked. Aiden's car wasn't ordinary, far from it. Custom engine, one that allowed him higher speeds than the regular models of his car. The side panels on all of the car were at one time removed, and painted beneath them were various devils traps and other symbols that would make his car a safe haven. Nothing, aside from angels if they existed, could get in.
As previously described, his trunk was full of weapons suited for just about any hunt. Several parts inside of the car were made of iron as well; Aiden didn't kid around when it came to hunting. In fact, it made him more of a dark, serious person. He'd seen death, he'd seen supernatural beings that were said to be fables. The ugly side of life. That usually changed a person.
The drive back through Portland was uneventful, boring even with the silence in the car. The usual music flowing from the speakers was non-existant on this drive, and when the dirt crunched beneath his wheels when he arrived back at the Crossroad's Tavern, it made him relax a little. The Crossroad's Tavern was almost run by him, seeing as most of the Hunters in the area were drifters. Aiden was more or less a resident, and thus he knew how things ran. He walked inside, and was given alcohol despite his age: he was one of the youngest Hunters around, and damn good for his age too.
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Post by Aiden on May 3, 2009 1:12:32 GMT -5
Taking a long drink from the frosty glass, Aiden's gaze stared off into nothingness while he thought about his life up to that point, and how he was dragged into the supernatural mess. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Age eleven, Aiden returned home, dropping his backpack at the stairs to take up later when he ventured into his war-zone of a room. He slipped his shoes off, and walked noiselessly into the kitchen. His target: the sterile white refridgerator that stood dead ahead. Picking up the pace, knowing full well what laid inside on the equally white shelves, his hand outreached to grab the contrasting black handles, which would pull forward and release the cool air into the kitchen. His nimble and small fingers outstretched, they closed around the black keys, only to be smacked away by a larger, more feminine hand. His head turned, a look of defeat splayed on his face. His mother, towering over his small form, looked down on him as if he was caught breaking some vital rule. "Aiden, you know that we're having dinner early today, with your grandparents," She scolded. "That means no eating before you go." He bowed his head in defeat, and returned to the stairs, grabbing his backpack and climbing up to his room. He carefully stepped his way through, as if it were an active minefield, to his bed, sitting and doing his homework. The minor distraction took less than an hour to complete the week's work, and he reached over and grabbed the controller whose wire snaked its way over to the television that was propped on top of a nearby piece of furniture. Until the time came to leave, Aiden busied himself moving through the alien world, fighting the waves of enemies, and finally destroying the one giving them orders. Dinner, uneventful and boring. The restaurant was busy, the service shoddy, and Aiden absorbed in the novel he brought along. His grandparents followed him home in their own car, and once inside, he was directed into the living room, where he took a spot on the couch, and resumed his place in the pages of the book. He tuned out the conversation, and spoke only when spoken to--it wasn't so much an obedience thing as much as a way to make the time go faster. Thus, he missed the words said to reveal that his grandfather was indeed possessed by a demon, and assaulting his father. Aiden's eyes widened as his father was attacked by the demon, and he recoiled into the couch, hiding behind the book as if it would serve the purpose of shielding him. His mind instinctively filtered what was going on out, to protect his mind for the future. At some point, he tried to run out of the room, at which time he himself was attacked by the demon, and knocked out with a single hit. When he came to, he was no longer in his own home. Beneath him was worn leather, faded, long. Above him, the roof of a car. Suddenly the images of the violent attack flooded into his mind, and he shot upward breathing heavily. The long seat of the car, the roof, the windows, everything was making him feel enclosed, and his head whipped to the side to see if he was alone. He was not. There was a man sitting in the front seat, now looking back at him, with a gun in hand. "Don't be alarmed. I killed the demon that attacked your family." Not exactly the best thing to say to an eleven year old, but it had Aiden's attention. "However...your parents, and what I take to be your grandparents...they didn't survive. I'm sorry." Here the man paused, and he turned, so that he could fully face the stricken boy. "I want to help you, I feel...I feel bad, for some reason. I'm going to train you how to kill those things." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Aiden sighed, but was brought out of his reverie when he felt someone pull on his shoulder from behind him. |
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Post by Aiden on May 3, 2009 14:41:55 GMT -5
Turning his body on the tall chair he was stationed on, he found himself looking into the eyes of an older man, large, tall. He was at one time muscular and a formidable foe, but over the years, he stopped keeping up with his workouts, the the muscle was nearly useless. The man's brows were furrowed, and a glare of anger coming from his eyes. Aiden looked into the man's eyes, which were a little close for comfort, waiting for him to say something. When he didn't, Aiden took this as his cue to play the man's games--for now.
"Can I help you?"
"You...you're the goddamn...Hunter...the one that let...you let him die. You let my son die. He was only a fucking teenager!"
Aiden sighed, not knowing exactly how to put it. Most times, he didn't deal with this, but there were those days when angry family members or friends found him at this bar. "Look man, he was dead when I got there. I was only following the thing that killed him. You do realize what it was, right? You do realize, I'd hope, who you are surrouned by?"
"You. Fucking. Let. Him. Die."
"He was dead when I got there. DOA, as some professions put it. I couldn't help him."
The man continued to glare at Aiden, tears brimming in his eyes, and the younger male began counting in his head. Odds were he would get to five before the man tried to hit him. One, two, three, fou--
Aiden's arm shot upwards, blocking the blow that was directed at his head. In the next second he was standing, the man's arm in his grip, and he twisted around, pinning it behind his back. He brought his knee up into the man's gut, letting all of the air in the older man's body t be expelled. Twisting him around again, Aiden took one good, clean shot at his face, watching him drop to the ground. "Try to hit me again, and see what happens jackass. Now, let me reiterate: Your son is dead, and I had nothing to do with it. I killed the damn shape-shifter like I was trying to do, and your son was a casualty. Be happy it wasn't you too."
Now in a bad mood, Aiden returned to his seat, and took the glass of whiskey that the bartender, Holly, offered him. Drinking it down, despite having supposed to sip it in increments, he let the burning feelings trickle down his throat, before whipping around and smashing the glass on the man's head seconds before he tried to get another swing in while Aiden's back was turned. "Sorry 'bout the glass, Holly."
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Post by Aiden on May 3, 2009 15:12:25 GMT -5
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Age fifteen. Five gunshots echoed in the thick surrounding of trees, but that deep into the forest, no Portlander would find himself and Malcolm in the midst of target practice. Up until this point, Aiden trained for years with almost everything but guns, and now he was receiving a crash course in the matter. Fifteen feet in front of him was a target made out of wood, leaves, and other material gathered from the accompanying forest, and was now marked with five wounds that splintered the dummy in some spots. The trees still echoed the sound of the shots, but Aiden himself was reaching for his ears. "Damn, Mal. How long until I get used to the sound at such a close range?" Aiden was with Malcolm, or Mal, in the past when guns were shot, but it was never that close to his ears. The ringing slowly subsided, and he returned his attention back on the dummy. He took a couple of steady breaths before throwing the gun up loosely, without aiming, and unleashing another five shots--meant for the head, although only one hit. One missed, and the other three connected with the 'neck' of the dummy. "Don't channel all of your energy into trying to hit one point on the head, Aid," Mal said in his authoritative voice. "As long as some part of the head is hit, you should be good. Now, say this is a shape-shifter, how do you kill it?" "Silver bullet to the heart," Aiden recited, releasing the clip, and grabbing one loaded with more bullets for his next run. Again, he threw the gun up, his eyes set on the general area of the 'heart', and released three shots, three trigger squeezes, and three identical holes in the chest of the dummy. Three hits to the 'heart'. Aiden grinned, and set the gun down. "I told you you'd get it. Now, how is that memorization of the exorcisms coming?" "Nearly done, just a few more lines left." "Good, good. Now, five shots to the head, and I want them all to hit." --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- With a sigh, Aiden dropped onto the bed provided for him on the upper level of The Crossroad's Tavern. With one hand laid on his chest, his eyes looked up to their usual spot on the ceiling. It was now two years to the day that Mal was killed by that demon, and a year to the day that Aiden sent said demon back to Hell. It bothered Aiden to no end that he wasn't able to destroy the thing that killed his mentor, and should the day come that he could find a way to kill a demon, he would exact his revenge on Ariel. With his mind at ease now, it wasn't long before Aiden drifted off into a comfortable sleep. |
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Post by Aiden on May 4, 2009 18:02:43 GMT -5
Sprawled shirtless on top of the bed, too lazy to even pull himself beneath the quilt beneath him, Aiden slept away. Strewn on his chest was one of the things that made him so successful, although he didn't know it. A small pewter disc hung from a black cord around his neck, with an engraving of what resembled an arrow pointing upwards set into it. It was a charm, given to him by Malcolm, that brought him not good fortune, but success. While it didn't always work, the supernatural element to it usually meant that he was able to accomplish his task, no matter how bad the conditions got. And in his sleeping state, his mind was coincidentally recalling the day it was given to him. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Socked feet emitted soft thuds on the wooden floor beneath him, as he moved through the top-most level of The Crossroads Tavern. It became his home when Malcolm took him in, and he knew the establishment inside and out. Today was the day of his fourteenth birthday, though only few people remembered that now. It was the least of his worries, as there was a werewolf near the tavern the previous night, and Malcolm was out hunting it--alone. Aiden was left behind, today, for safety reasons, but he waited for Mal's return. He slipped on some shoes and headed down into the main bar area (since you never knew what people dropped or broke down there). He decided he would kill some time by playing a couple of rounds of pool, which he now had an astounding aptitude for. He'd already had his first beer, and refused to go near smoking anything. He liked his lungs the way they were. The loud crack of ball hitting ball didn't stop Aiden from looking up when the door opened, a haggard looking Malcolm stumbling through the doorway. He looked exhausted, most likely because he was up for nearly three days without rest trying to track the beast. Aiden moved over to him, like a squire to his knight, and took his things. "Did you kill it?" He recieved a tired nod in return, to which Aiden grinned. "If anyone could have done it that fast, it's you Mal. Come on, October has a beer already waiting for you," Aiden said, leading him over to the barmaid at the time. After Mal recooperated some, he challenged Aiden to a game of pool before taking him to get something to eat. Mal was a second father to Aiden, and looked after him no matter the issue. Illness, hunger, his education (which was more or less a jerry-rigged homeschooling system). Malcolm was always there for Aiden, and for that, he was forever greatful. He took Aiden to a movie after dinner, some action flick full of gunfights and explosions. By the time it let out, the tavern would be closed to regular customers, and the few Hunters that were there would most likely be asleep. Upon his arrival back at the bar, the two barmaids greeted him with a rather large cake, lit with candles and everything. Mal even remembered his birthday. After all of the festivities, Aiden felt...like a normal kid, aside from living on top of a bar. He owed Mal a lot, yet all he could do at the moment was beam like a child left to do what he wanted in an amusement park. While he munched away on his piece of cake, the tall man walked over to the young teen, and took something from around his neck. A black, thin cord that slid to adjust size, with a disc hanging off of it, engraved with an arrow. Aiden felt it slide onto his neck, the weight nearly nothing. "Now Aiden, do me a favor, and don't lose that. Follow that one rule, and you'll be in business as long as you have that." "What is it?" "Just a little trinket I picked up along my travels. It's yours now, so don't let anyone steal it, you hear me?" "Yeah, yeah, I hear you." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
His brows furrowed and his eyes closed tighter as if to bring the sleep back. One, two, three, four times his phone vibrated on the table next to his bed. If it was a job, it could sure as hell wait until the morning. There was a lot on his mind, and Aiden was one for sleep. He groaned to himself as the phone vibrated for a final time, and then stopped. Content, he brought a pillow over his head, and was just about asleep in the seconds that passed when the phone rang again. This time, Aiden was pissed. Who thought that they were so goddamn important that they could climb up on their high horse and call him in the middle of the night? Aiden threw the pillow at the wall, and then sat up. His bleary eyes caught sight of the time. Just after 3 a.m. Oh no, he was not happy. Grabbing for the phone, he looked at the number and initials; he didn't put full names for the security of his contacts. He scowled when he found it was Jefferson, calling from Texas, where he was two hours ahead of Aiden. He threw himself back down onto the bed, and flipped the phone open. "Dammit Jefferson, don't you know what time it is? Its fucking three a.m. for me, I'm trying to get some damn sleep! Whatever this fucking is, it can wait until the morning you bastard," He hissed into the phone. Aiden liked his sleep. Then, he added something that Jefferson would understand, at least partially. "Especially on the day of Mal's death." "Listen to me, Sam, Dean, and everyone they and we knew are gone, and I don't mean on a damn vacation. They are just gone. None of them will answer their phones. We need to help them out." Aiden sighed, quickly replaying the words over in his head. He was sure that they were fine, and that Jefferson was just overreacting as always. He wanted to get back to sleep, dammit. "Okay, I'll help. But in the morning, I'm so fucking tired right now." "No! Aiden stay awake! We need to help them out, and that means starting right now. Try and find out anything you can. Also Aiden, DON'T FALL ASLEEP!" He heard a click on the other end, and Aiden scoffed. "Fuck that shit," He grumbled, instantly finding refuge in his dreams. |
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Post by Aiden on May 4, 2009 20:04:58 GMT -5
A muffled sigh was trapped in his mouth as Aiden awoke, this time in the comfort of daylight. He blinked groggily a few times before sitting up, and not a second later, his phone went off again. He stared at it for a moment, the pewter disc cool against the skin of his chest. If Jefferson was calling again to try and rally him for some ghost cause, Aiden was going to give him a piece of his mind. It was early, he was interrupted from his sleep the previous night, and he wasn't ready to deal with this Hunter crap yet, he needed about half an hour to get ready. Without looking at the number, he grabbed the phone and flipped it open.
"Dammit Jeff, I told you that I'll help your ass, so just leave me alone for all of a couple hou--"
"This isn't Jefferson, Aiden. My name is Casey." The voice was flat, low, cold even. It had Aiden's attention instantly, the phone held to his ear. "Assuming that Jefferson listened to me, I believe you've heard about the Winchesters. I was the one who informed Jefferson, and I need your help as well."
"Alright...Casey...who the hell are you?"
"Someone like you, and someone that needs to help the brothers. You were listed as a contact in Dean's phone, so I presume you know them enough to know that they need help. When I say that they're missing, I mean that I cannot find them by any means."
Aiden listened for a moment, looking at the wooden floor beneath him. "What's it matter if they're missing? They're always missing somewhere, and they turn up a few days later."
"They've been gone longer than you may realize, Mr. Wood. And the matter is the apocalypse." Aiden sighed, this guy sounded legit enough, and there was...there was something in his voice that told him this was the truth.
"What do you need me to do? And what apocalypse?"
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