new chapterrrr! hehehehe
(has nothing else to say so just sneaks away and turns a tight corner, but not before yelling over her shoulder: I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL, OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS! ONLY MY OC: AUBREY MILLIGAAAaaaaann... *disappears*)
AUBREY
"A Trickster? Never heard of it."
They were back at the motel, finally discussing what they had been pitted with.
Dean told her it was a trickster, though the way he said it, "the trickster", made it seem like there was only one. When she asked about it, Dean just shook his head, smiling. "We've crossed paths with him before and trust me when I say, this is our same son of a bitch." And it wasn't the happy kind of smile either. It was bitter, and rueful. Aubrey knew that something had happened between them and this trickster that they also hadn't told her about.
"Bobby says that Tricksters are very rare." She sat cross-legged on the bed, a pillow on her lap, listening intently as Sam said, "There's Loki in Scandinavia, and Anansi in West Africa. Their killing methods are very… humorous." He hesitated as if the last word wasn't what he was aiming to say. Aubrey made a mental note. Okay, killing methods are humorous; in other words, deadly and annoying and highly ironic.
"Okay…" Aubrey's eyebrows furrowed together, her thoughts flying about freely in her head because these boys obviously knew more about the thing than her and she was still confused. "What makes you say this thing we're dealing with is a Trickster, then?"
Dean said, "Because when I searched up Bill Randolph's supposed bear attack, it said that he had quite a temper. Two accounts of spousal battery, bar brawls, and court-ordered anger management sessions. You might say you… wouldn't like him when he's angry."
Aubrey smirked, fiddling with the tip of the pillow. "So you think the Trickster somehow turned himself into Bruce Banner?"
"Yes, and," Sam added. "It definitely fits because when we checked out the house there was a giant eight-foot wide hole where the front door used to be. Almost like a…"
"A Hulk-sized hole," Aubrey finished for him, looking up from her pillow. Sam nodded. "Okay, so we got a hole in the house, and a coincidence. I'm gonna need more than that, guys."
"Bill's wife Kathy was there when her husband was killed and could've sworn that it was the Hulk that killed him," Dean offered. "And Tricksters have a sweet tooth."
Aubrey stared at him, confused. "So?"
"We found these in the crime scene." From his jacket's pocket, Sam pulled out eight pieces of candy wrappers and handed it to Aubrey's outstretched hand. She inspected them, finding the wrappers familiar. Yep. Definitely flat tops.
"Okay then, a Trickster it is," Aubrey said, setting down the candy wrappers. "Now how do we kill it?"
Sam leaned forward from his seat to my right. He frowned. "Kill it?"
"Yeah, kill it. You know, like what we do to most sons of bitches we find killing people for fun?"
"Aubrey, I was kind of thinking that maybe we could… talk to him."
Now Aubrey wasn't really sure anymore. "Is he friendly?"
"No, he isn't friendly," Dean answered in a booming voice, making Aubrey raise her hands in a sign of innocence. Sam clearly said something wrong, now they were going to start a fight. "Sam, why would you want to talk to him? The bastard killed me a thousand times back in Mystery Spot!" Another thing they failed to mention to her.
"Look, think about it, Dean." Sam pulled out his convincing-the-devil face, and Aubrey couldn't help but smile. "He's one of the most powerful creatures we've ever met. Maybe we can use him."
"For what?" Dean didn't look swayed, but Aubrey was listening.
"Okay, Trickster's like a Hugh Hefner type, right? Wine, women, song—maybe he doesn't want the party to end. Maybe he hates this angels-and-demons stuff as much as we do. Maybe he'll help us."
"You're serious?"
"Yeah."
"Dean, maybe Sam's right," Aubrey finally cut in, forcing the boys to stop their argument and look at her. "I mean, he's got a point. From what I've heard from you two, maybe the Trickster would side with us."
Dean started, "Aubrey, you wanna ally with the Trickster."
She sighed, rubbing her face in her hands. "Well, when you put it like that it doesn't seem like a good idea—"
"It isn't!"
"—but what have we got to lose?"
"He'll kill us!" Dean interjected, his hands flying wildly in the air. "The Trickster is bloody, and violent, and has killed people for a friggin' bottle of soda."
"Dean, would he really kill us for asking for his help?" He was about to cut her off but Aubrey didn't let him. She continued, "If we don't make a move against him, maybe he won't try and make a move against us."
"Maybe," Dean said, emphasizing the word. "What if he does?"
"Then we fight," Aubrey said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Sam was beaming, looking at his brother who looked to be contemplating the idea. He shifted from foot to foot.
He finally made up his mind. "Fine. We'll talk to the guy." Aubrey high-fived Sam. "But if he even takes out a friggin' knife, I'm gonna kill him."
"I don't doubt it."
When the boys finally finished explaining the Trickster's weakness—a wooden stake dipped in the blood of a previous victim—they spent the rest of the day looking for forearm-length wood and sharpening the edges. All the while, Sam listened in on a police scanner, waiting for anything suspicious to come by that might be the work of our guy.
"Looks like we won't be getting help from your angel buddy, huh?" Aubrey stopped what she was doing, looking up from her stake and staring at the spot where the angel had been sitting on when they arrived. He didn't stay very long. Aubrey had just finished saying something to Dean, and when she turned to look at Castiel again, he was gone.
The sound of Dean's knife cutting across wood stopped. He said, "If we get in trouble, he'll show up. He always does." There was a sense of trust in the elder brother's voice. He continued shaving the wood.
"You trust him very much, don't you?"
"The guy hasn't left us to die yet."
Aubrey smiled. "And he won't. I'm sure of it."
Suddenly, Aubrey heard static. "Um, Dispatch?" a man's voice said, coming from the scanner. Sam picked it up. "I got a possible 187 out here at the old paper mill on Route 6?"
"Roger that," another man's voice said. "What are you looking at there, son?"
"Honestly, Walt, I… I wouldn't even know how to describe what I'm seeing. Just—send everybody."
"All right, stay calm, stay by your car. Help's on the way."
The scanner went dead, and the three hunters shared a look. "That sounds weird," Dean said, continuing to sharpen his stake.
Sam asked, "Weird enough to be our guy?"
"That's him."
Finding the warehouse was easy enough. It was massive, though smaller, Aubrey was sure, than other warehouses. It was abandoned as well. The walls had deteriorated, almost all the windows were broken, and rust had appeared wherever there was metal. The air was cold, and to their right where the forest started, mist gathered around the trees.
The most unnerving fact was that there was no one else around.
"There was a murder here, and there are no police cars. There's nobody," Dean stated, opening the trunk as he looked around. "How's that look to you?"
"Crappy," Sam answered. Dean took out three flashlights and three stakes, handing one of each to Aubrey, who stared up at one of the windows of the warehouse.
She felt some kind of presence inside. No doubt it was the Trickster. But something wasn't right…
Aubrey trailed behind the two, having this unsettling feeling in her gut. She looked up at one of the windows again, and her heart stopped.
Maybe it was a trick of the light, or maybe something had been in her eye, but she could have sworn that she saw the darkness inside the warehouse flicker. That just didn't happen. Darkness didn't flicker. Lights flickered, not the other way around.
So either there were still light bulbs inside with some juice left, or they were walking straight into some sort of trap.
"Wait!" Aubrey yelled, taking off into a full sprint for the Winchesters. Sam and Dean looked back, but they were already through the doorway. The door slammed shut behind them.
Aubrey ran into the door full force, banging on it with her fist and yelling. "Sam! Dean!" No reply came. She continued banging against the wood, but to no avail, and after a while she just stopped altogether, gathering her thoughts.
The Trickster wouldn't kill them immediately, right? Sam and Dean told her that Tricksters liked to play with their victims' minds before finally letting them die, and though it wasn't such a reassuring thought, it was better than nothing. Aubrey took a deep breath, pulled her foot inwards to her body and, with all the force she could muster, kicked the door. It flew open with a loud bang, and Aubrey ran inside.
The place was completely empty. Only pieces of broken floorboards and broken windows were on the floor. Nothing else.
Sam and Dean were gone.
For the next three days, Aubrey drove everywhere.
Around town, across town, through town, in buildings, and beneath the streets. She broke through walls and searched basements, not even making an effort of hiding her handiwork. She ran on 4 cups of coffee a day and barely slept at all.
Dean had brought the keys of his Impala with him so Aubrey couldn't drive it back to the motel. She left it there by the warehouse. Who would go all the way there just to steal it anyway?
By the time she'd finally given up, it was late in the third day and the whole town was sleeping. Lights were out except for street lamps. Aubrey sat beneath one—though the more appropriate word was that she collapsed. The cold metal of the lamp bit into the bare skin at the nape of her neck.
The night was cold, colder than most. Aubrey could see her breath come out of her mouth in cool wisps. She huddled closer to the streetlamp, cold, though the metal base offered her no warmth. She hadn't brought a jacket.
Aubrey was exhausted. She was. But she also wasn't going to stop looking. Her body tingled, knowing that the boys were still alive. They were smart, smarter than they let off. They would figure something out. Although it would have been better if they escaped, somehow, on their own, but the best she could ask for was that they stall for more time.
Tricksters were cunning, and for them to be cunning, they had to be intelligent. Whoever captured Sam and Dean would be smart enough to know that they would try to escape. She hoped that the Winchesters wouldn't do anything stupid, but then her heart dropped into her stomach when she remembered that everything the Winchesters did was stupid.
A small smile played on her lips as she remembered the first night she'd spent with them. She and the boys were drinking, laughing even, as they recalled the many times Castiel had saved them.
The angel, to everyone's surprise, had not vanished. He just sat on a bed, his hands on his lap, watching everything with a glint in his eye. Aubrey knew he was recollecting as well, the many occasions the Winchesters got into trouble and they needed an angel, their angel, to rescue them once again.
One time that night, Aubrey stood up from her seat and walked towards a mystified Castiel, holding her beer out to him. He took it, but didn't do anything right after. He just looked down at it, and glanced back up at Aubrey from time to time before looking down again. "Drink it," Aubrey had said with a laugh.
The angel held it to his mouth, before taking a short sip. His eyes flitted to Aubrey's, and he looked like a pre-schooler looking to his teacher for help. For all Aubrey knew, that was exactly what he was doing.
She laughed again and quickly snatched Dean's beer from his hands. He shouted in surprise, but it died in his throat as Aubrey drank, holding the bottle over her head and gulping down the contents in six very large gulps.
When she was done, the Winchesters stared at her with wide eyes, their mouths agape. "Like that," she told Castiel, who wasn't looking at her with an impressed look on his face, but was instead looking as if he had finally understood something. Aubrey wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Go on," she said, encouraging the angel.
Castiel brought the rim to his lips and, looking at Aubrey one last time, drank; and he didn't stop drinking until the beer was completely empty, not even a drop left.
"He's never done that before!" Dean had exasperated, patting the angel on the back with a grin on his face.
"And that, my young ward," Aubrey said, putting her hand on Castiel's shoulder, "is how you drink beer." When she saw the angel's lips quirk upwards in a slight smile, she knew she'd won the angel over. But not enough for him to stop looking for God.
When they went to sleep, Aubrey was still awake when she heard the soft flutter of wings. She hadn't seen him since that night.
Castiel.
All of a sudden, the lamp post against Aubrey's back wasn't so consoling anymore. She sat up.
That was it! He would help her! He'd done it many times before, why wouldn't he do it now?
Though her head was spinning from exhaustion, Aubrey pulled herself up. He was her only hope. He was Sam and Dean's only hope. He had to come.
Gathering the strength and energy she had left, Aubrey took a deep breath, and yelled at the top of her lungs.
"CAAAAAASSS!"
*runs into the screen* reviews are greatly appreciated! *runs back out*
