. Chapter Eleven

…

Clock Tower

6:00 PM

"Uhh... Jen?"

A deep sigh. Then Jen turned around and looked back at the Red Ranger, who remained ten steps below her, watching her through a pair of wary, blue eyes; Wes had been silent the entire walk back to the Clock Tower, as if sensing the tension coming from Jen. She wasn't surprised, it felt like the emotion was radiating off her body.

"What?" she asked.

"Red... back at the fight," Wes started, haltingly, the way he always spoke when she was upset about something. " ... What are you going to do about her?"

Jen raised one, thin eyebrow. "I think it's pretty clear we can't trust her."

Wes shrugged. "Maybe... maybe not. Doesn't seem like she was too thrilled about what happened, either." He saw the fight starting up in Jen's eyes, and held up his hands in protest: "I'm not taking sides, Jen. I'm just saying... maybe we should at least hear hers before you start trying to put her in one of those-- " he gestured toward the container in her hand.

Jen rolled her eyes, turning back around and continuing on her way up the stairs as she spoke: "I'm not going to freeze her... but we need to take a step back and figure out if we can really work with her. What if she goes demon on us? Do you really think we could handle something like that?" Shaking her head, she added: "Ransik barely held his own. And he wipes the floor with us."

"Didn't seem like it was a regular thing."

"Yeah, well... it would only take once."

"We need their help."

Jen glared at him over her shoulder. "No, we don't. Just because we didn't know what we were getting into the first time around, doesn't mean we won't be ready the next time," she said, "It was nice of them to help us out... but I don't trust them. Any of them. Not just Celia." At Wes' confused stare, she went on: "Oh, come on... don't you think it's a little weird that a thousand years from now, there is no record of these things they talk about? Vampires, ghosts, demons. Nothing."

"It's not that strange," Wes said, "Things get mixed up... especially over the course of a thousand years." He smirked. "You don't know, maybe Time Force has a special division set up for this supernatural stuff!"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I don't see what's so ridiculous about it. Red mentioned that Hunters have been around for five thousand years. FIVE thousand and the public still knows nothing! Another thousand doesn't seem like a stretch."

They reached the top. Jen stalked over to the metal shelf and opened it up after dialing in the code, then placed the container amidst the others; she took a moment before speaking again. "I'm the leader, Wes... I don't want to see any of my team get hurt. And Celia... she's a threat."

"She can also be a big help," Wes countered, "Besides... we've been saying that same thing about Eric ever since he showed up in town. So far, he hasn't revealed himself to be the Anti-Christ."

"Eric isn't a demon... I think." Wes chuckled at the dry joke, and Jen cracked a tiny smile before running her fingers through her dark hair, piled up in a messy ponytail, troubled again. "I don't know... I just don't feel like this is right. I can't explain why."

Wes dropped the subject then, knowing there was nowhere else to go with it and wisely deciding to avoiding pressuring Jen any further; since the Time Force Rangers arrival to the year 2007 a few months ago, Jen's cold exterior had cracked slightly, the stabbing pain from her devastating loss of Alex gradually decreasing... but she still often withdrew from him and the others. He could tell just by looking into her haunted eyes that a withdrawal was about to happen soon.

"Anything we need to bring back to the motel?" he asked.

"Celia said there were first aid kits in the truck... and our weapons are useless against the vampires." Jen sank down onto the wooden bench that was set up alongside the picnic table in the center of the room. "We're close enough that we can keep an eye on the Tower, to make sure no one goes in. We should take shifts."

"We can't have anyone outside alone," Wes reminded her.

"Fine... we'll check the windows, maybe the Tower is visible from one."

Jen eyed Wes somewhat warily as he walked over and sat down beside her, slapping his hands to his knees and taking a deep breath. "So... what'd you think about Ransik attacking Celia? I guess he knows about the vamps, probably working with them." Jen snorted faintly, but he went on: "I know Sam said vamps are tight-knit and don't like to work with others, but if they've all survived over a hundred years they've gotta be smart, too... and what would be smarter than joining forces with the biggest badass in town?"

"Great... mutants and vampires."

"I know... as if we didn't have enough to deal with already," Wes said, " ... Sam and Dean are only human, we can't expect them to put up much of a fight against Ransik, or any other mutant.. And Celia might lose control again if she goes at it with one of them. So it's just us... but hey, at least they can deal with the vamps." He smiled.

"Which is more than we can say," Jen admitted, bringing one hand up to her face and rubbing her forehead gingerly.

"We'll get 'em next time, Jen." Again, Wes gave her an encouraging smile, then slapped his hand down on her shoulder, wincing slightly as he stood, still stiff and sore from their first encounter with the vampire pack. He rolled his shoulder, rubbed it with his hand, and cracked his neck loudly. Then, in a soft voice: "We should get back."

...

Ransik's Hideout -- Prison Ship

6:00 PM

Dominique and Ransik stood face-to-face as the mutant leader was patched up by one of his thoughtless cyclobots; he was covered in green bruises, there was a nasty gash running down the exposed side of his face, and a knife was embedded deep inside his ribs. The cyclobot was currently working on repositioning the bones in Ransik's hand, before moving up to the elbow and shoulder and the mutant grunted painfully as the bones grinded together and were put back in place.

"Have fun? You underestimated her," Dominique stated.

"Hardly!" Ransik laughed, "I'm alive, aren't I?"

"From what we saw... " Dante said, "That is only by luck. Or rather, by the intervention of a certain Hunter, one named Dean Winchester. It's just sad when you have to be saved by a Hunter."

"If you truly believe that," Ransik replied, "Then you have severely underestimated me." He shook his head, slowly, to avoid any additional pain. "She was a formidable opponent, at the end. But she was as weak as a kitten when we first met."

"That was her human side," Dominique explained easily, "The woman you fought at the end... that was a demon. She was holding back, too, had to be. A demon could tear you apart." Grudgingly, he went on: "And us."

"Believe what you want, Vampire," Nadira sneered, from her place by the TV. "Fact is, your all-powerful demon went up against my daddy... and he's still standing." She stuck her nose in the air, then turned back to watching her show.

"Barely," Angelique growled.

"ENOUGH!" Dominique and Ransik both snapped. They looked at each other again, equally exasperated with their respective teams; Ransik spoke first: "The woman... she didn't want to let the demon take control. She will be vulnerable from now on. She'll hold back. Now is the perfect time to strike."

"For once... I agree," Dominique conceded, "The Winchester brothers are weakened, as well."

One corner of Ransik's mouth turned up in a smirk. "Yes."

"The Rangers need them," Dixon said. Even he had a small smile on his usually solemn face.

"Without the Hunters... they'll practically be defenseless," Dante confirmed.

"We could take them all!" Peter cried, excitedly.

Dominique nodded. "Then it's settled," he said, "We attack while they're open for the kill. No more waiting. No more wasting time."

Ransik grinned. "The time is now."

...

The Silver Ring Inn, Room 34

6:45 PM

"You guys have everything in here... " Eric sighed quietly and lifted a small glass bottle and a syringe still packaged in paper and plastic out of a steel tackle box filled to the brim with medical supplies. "Even morphine."

"Oh, dibs," Dean grumbled from his place on the bed. He rolled to his side and stretched, taking the bottle and syringe out of Eric's hands, and swiftly stripped the packaging away with his teeth, slid the needle into the cloth top and filled the needle with several CCs of morphine. Setting the glass bottle aside, Dean lifted his arm over his head and injected the drug into his own system. The elder Winchester waited a few seconds before sighing and letting his arm drop back to the mattress. He lifted the needle, still half full of clear morphine.

"Sam?"

The younger brother shook his head against the ice pack in his hand. "Not with a concussion."

"Anybody else?" Dean asked, twitching the needle in his hands. "I swear I don't have any STDs or blood borne diseases."

Lucas, Katie and Trip looked at him oddly. Eric rolled his eyes and sighed under his breath.

"That you know of," Sam muttered.

"Bitch," Dean growled.

"Jerk," the younger man responded instantly.

"What about Red?" The Quantum Ranger asked, hoping to stop what looked to be a bickering session in the making.

"Morphine makes her vomit," Sam muttered and gently shoved Valentine away from him, the albino German Shepherd had been insistent on licking his hand for the last twenty minutes.

Dean dug into the torn package and pulled out a cap for the needle. "Write my name on that, bro." Dean handed the syringe to Eric, who cocked his head and looked into the tackle box. "There's a marker in the last compartment, on the bottom," Dean said, his eyes already drifting closed as the drug numbed him from the pain.

Eric dug into the box and pulled out a sharpie-- writing 'Dean' on the glass of the needle --and put them both back into the tackle box, then continued his search through the medical supplies that had come out of the toolbox across the bed of the Silverado. Dean wouldn't let him anywhere near the Impala and he still had the keys to the truck. He'd found the toolbox fascinating, though he was unable to explain half of what he saw.

The metal container was packed with weapons, both in their original forms and customized into designs specifically for the Hunt. Firearms, both handguns and long guns, knives of different shapes, sizes and foiled of not only steel but iron, silver, brass even gold, bone and clay. Most engraved with Latin, ancient symbols and Native American glyphs. A machete, a large silver spike, a reinforced shovel and axe, flairs, tazer guns, wire, rope, a collection of different, dried herbs and bottles and flasks filled with holy water or other concoctions and mixtures of oils, herbs, common house hold items. A vast array of ammunition, ranging from standard big game hunting bullets, to high velocity, hollow points to a Winchester original, shot gun cartridges filled with rock salt. To top everything off there were a few large books, bound in leather, some printed and some hand written and most bestiaries.

Eric had been tempted to root through the toolbox but had resorted to only take the steel container marked with a Red Cross sticker from the gear. His eyes lingering on two sets of antique Colt six-shooters in leather holsters and strung on leather belts, he shut and locked the lid again.

The three Rangers and Eric had stood back while Dean, Celia and Sam went through the motions-- it was clear that they had been through situations like this before. Celia had been silent through most of it, before Eric had the chance she'd stitched Dean's leg up; each of them had been dosed with mild painkillers and took six minute showers, trashed their destroyed clothes and pulled on fresh jeans and T-shirts. Celia insisting to take hers last, and she was currently locked in the bathroom with Buckshot pressed against the door. The large dog growled warningly when anyone, even one of the brothers, walked passed.

"Is this a horse tranquilizer?" Eric asked, lifting another glass bottle.

"Knowin' Red, probably," Sam muttered with a small smile before he flinched against the ice pack. Dean's sigh sounded more like a muffled laugh.

"Why is that funny?" Trip asked, quietly.

"Because she's a horse trainer back home," Sam explained. "Breeder, too."

"Really?" Eric asked, his dark eyebrows raising in an expression that clearly conveyed interest.

"Yep," Dean said, shifting and flinching for a second before he settled back against the mattress again. "Her competing days are over for the most part."

"Where's back home?" Katie asked, running a hand through her frizzy hair.

"Nowhere you need to worry about," Dean grumbled, irritable from the pain and annoyance of being injured. "You'll never see it."

"Hunters only," Sam said, considerably less hostile. His eyes flashed up when Buckshot trotted through the large room toward the door. Dean instantly sat up, fighting back a touch of nausea.

Celia walked stiffly, fiddling with a small rubber band and her damp hair, the red color looked almost black wet. She'd changed into a loose fitting pair of jeans, and a tank top that exposed her arms, back and shoulders, the Rangers were startled to see that most of the bruises on the surface of her skin had already changed color, looking several days old instead of just an hour or two. The flesh wound across her upper chest had long stopped bleeding, the skin that had looked raw, now looked more like a mild first degree burn than anything else. The wound had luckily spared a circular tattoo on the right side of her chest, a tribal design of black, red, blue and brown-- a crow and an otter caught in a balancing circle. The gash across her upper bicep had been stitched closed and didn't look anywhere near swollen, minor scrapes and lacerations had already healed completely over. Any injuries below the waist were hidden by the jeans, her bare feet padded across the floor totally silent. She made absolutely no noise when she moved. Her eyes turned instantly to Sam and Dean.

"All right?" she asked, her voice was raspy and painful.

"Yeah," Sam responded. "How's the tooth?"

"It'll be grown in by tomorrow," Celia said quietly.

"Okay... c'mon. Pow-wow," Dean ordered and pushed himself up, heading for the door. Celia slumped a little and took a deep but shaky breathe before following on his heels. Sam started to push himself up, tossing the ice pack onto the table but sat back down when dizziness hit him again. Dean and Celia's attention focused on him in a heartbeat.

"Sam?" Dean's voice was tinged with worry.

"I'm going to sit," Sam said, "Still concussed... Dean, watch it alright?"

"Yeah yeah yeah... " the elder Winchester muttered and opened the door, standing back so Celia could slip out passed him, he followed and shut the door softly but securely.

"Is he going to yell at her?" Trip asked quietly, his eyes wide with empathy. Sam blinked at the young alien's concern. "Jen yells at us sometimes about fights that go bad."

"He's going to talk to her, Trip," Sam sighed assuringly, "When it's about Shuka Wakan Dean's real careful about talking to her. He cares too much to about her to scream at her over something like this. He likes to yell, that's for damn sure, but he doesn't yell at her... unless she screams at him first, of course."

"Shuka Wakan is the demon," Eric said quietly, far from a question.

"Demons have names and that's his."

"'His'?" Lucas blinked. "Red's possessed by a guy?"

A sneaky smirk appeared on the young man's face, and Katie snorted, rolling her eyes and muttering: "Perv."

"No, by a male demon," Sam corrected.

"He's the reason she's almost healed all the way, isn't he? Why her tooth'll grow back by tomorrow... " Eric said.

"Demons can't die," Sam said. "They're already dead... sort of... they can't be killed. When they posses someone it's kind of like they're driving a car or wearing a suit, they're totally protected while the body around them takes the brunt of the blow. Doesn't matter what happens... shot, set on fire, blown up, lynched, the demon just being there heals all the wounds and keeps the engine going."

"Sounds kind of handy," Lucas mumbled.

Sam glared at him. "As soon as the demon decides to upgrade-- find a new ride --all those injuries stack back up on the body. A host usually doesn't survive being possessed," Sam growled, finalizing the conversation. "It's a curse."

...

Jen walked stiffly next to Wes, half not believing that she was abandoning the Clock Tower again to go check on perfect strangers. The old building had been home for months, and everything was there. Katie's diary, what few pictures they had brought with them from the year 3000, and more important things like the captured mutants, their technology, weapons. Things she hated to leave behind.

Her eyes flashed up when the sound of voices drifted across the parking lot toward them, the two Rangers eyes roved to the catwalk of the second floor toward the stairs-- their backs to Wes and Jen, Dean and Celia were sitting on the top step. Wes started to call out when Jen's hand slammed shut over his mouth, muffling his voice as she dragged him aside, ducking quickly behind the Silverado. Jen's hand pressed tightly into Wes' mouth and she watched when Celia's head twitched aside, looking around, the Pink Ranger actually saw her nose crinkling, nostrils flaring as if scenting the air.

"What's up?" Dean asked, quietly.

Celia hesitated before shaking her head slightly. "Driftin' scent, I guess," she sighed.

Jen let go of Wes and crept closer, straining to listen.

"Jen," Wes whispered so softly he was practically mouthing at her. "This isn't right."

She shushed him with a wave of her hand and listened as Dean addressed Celia again.

"What's going on here, Celia?" Dean asked. Jen noted that they seemed to have been talking for a while. "You're short tempered, foul mouthed-- even more than usual. It's like your nerves are shot-- "

"I know... I hate it... " Celia sighed.

"They think you're dangerous. Especially the pink one, she looked at you like a rabid wolf back there."

"I wouldn't hurt any of 'em," Celia said solidly. "That bastard was beatin' on me for half an hour... I blinked, I admit it, and he took the second."

"All he needs is a blink, and you have never given it that much room before. Your control is slipping and this isn't the first time... you've been a bitch for the last three weeks. I've seen your eyes black more in that time than I have in the last three years."

Celia didn't respond.

"You're not sick and there weren't any breaks in the trap?"

"I looked in the mirror. It's solid... "

There was a second of silence.

"Are you pregnant or something?"

"Dean... " Celia growled. "Ya know I can't carry."

"Just making sure, seemed like hormones. The way Sammy gets when he's being pissy. Like PMS."

"Shut up." She rubbed a hand through her hair, then ran a hand down her arm, pausing over the purple bruise on her bicep. "I don't know what's wrong with me, Dean. I feel kind of... compressed."

"Compressed?"

"Squeezed... heavier... this thin' is gettin' heavier. I mean it…it feels like he's literally gainin' weight."

"There's a reason they call him the Swallower, right? Maybe he's found something to feed off. Stress, anger... are you having nightmares?"

Celia sighed again. "Not really... maybe I've just been too far from home for too long."

There was a few minutes of silence, then Dean cleared his throat. "Celia... M'amin... maybe we need to think about relaying the trap."

Horror blazed in her eyes. "Oh, God, no..."

"Maybe the seal's getting weak, you know? Magic like this does get older, and it fades. You and I both know that our dads did it right the first time, but Nathaniel passed away nineteen years ago and maybe while Dad was alive he was anchoring the seal. But he's been dead for two years now so its real power is cracking."

"A week lyin' on my stomach with an open wound across my back, salt and ink and holy water rubbed in..."

"I don't like it any better than you-- "

"I think ya like it a little more."

"I'm sorry... "

"Ya have no clue how much it hurts." Celia looked like she was shivering.

Dean waited a few seconds. "We finish this job, ditch the teens, don't take any more Hunts for two weeks.

We all go back to Tuscarora, we'll talk to Eli-- "

She cut him off. "I don't want to bother him-- "

"I do. We'll talk to Eli and see what he says, listen to his suggestions. If he and Sam agree with me, will you consider it?"

"Dean-- "

"Consider it, think about it... I'll do it and Sam'll help."

"This isn't just a little patch job, yer talkin' 'bout a complete over haul."

"And I swear I won't leave you alone. You won't be able to get rid of me." He smiled slightly, but there was no humor or warmth in his green eyes.

Celia's head dropped forward and she swallowed.

"Just consider it, all right?"

Celia's narrow chest filled and she nodded. Dean sighed deeply, far from a noise of relief. Then he reached for her.

Out of sight, Jen bristled and felt a bitter taste flood her mouth when the elder Winchester leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Celia's lips. He lifted a hand to her jaw and deepened the kiss for a second before breaking off and resting his forehead against hers.

Alex's lips pressed to hers as they stood under the moonlight... his gentle hands, so calloused and scarred, touching her like she was porcelain... his voice, sometimes severe and harsh when giving out orders, asking her that fateful question as the sun set over Silver City. "Jennifer... will you marry me?"

Jen swallowed the lump in her throat and roughly ran a hand over her watering eyes. How a fucking demon could find happiness in the world while she lost the only man she'd ever loved was beyond her.

Celia leaned forward and returned the kiss, quickly intensifying and deepening the embrace. One of her hands moved to roam over Dean's torso. He hissed and pulled back sharply when she touched his bruised ribs.

"I can't…I can't." He rasped tiredly and smiled at the red head apologetically.

"Sorry…just been a while." Celia sighed.

"Trust me, I know…all right," Dean said, and pressed a quick kiss to her temple as he pushed himself up. "C'mon, you need some sleep."

She waved him off. "I'm goin' to sit for a minute."

"Don't come back smelling like smoke," Dean ordered with a small smile.

"Out of my power," Celia replied, shifting to pull out a squashed pack of cigarettes. She slipped one out and placed it between her teeth before extracting a lighter and flicking on the flame.

Jen and Wes stood, watching as Dean slipped back into the motel room, then Jen started forward, her boots thudding on the asphalt then the metal stairs, marching toward Celia. The redhead's eyes flicked up to meet hers, keeping the gaze until the younger and smaller woman was standing on a step several below her. Wes hung back behind her, shifting his weight and making the stairs creak a little.

Celia puffed out a small cloud of smoke and looked Jen up and down.

"What do ya want?" she muttered, uninterested.

"We need to talk," Jen said, firmly.

"I'm not takin' a lecture from ya, Butch. Pack sand." Celia's eyes narrowed. Jen's teeth ground together, she looked ready for a throwdown fist fight.

"I'm not-- "

"Older than me, related in any way, or a Hunter. Ya've got nothin' I want to hear," Celia cut her off and snorted through her nose. "I already heard it all from Dean."

"I have plenty more to say than whatever he told you," Jen snapped. "And I may not be any of those things... but I'm not some bimbo you can boss around, either."

"Ya saw what happened to me today?"

"Of course."

"Do ya know what it's like to be so absolutely terrified of yerself... that ya would rather let a son of a bitch like Ransik beat ya to death then fight back and risk losin' yerself? Risk gettin' so out of control that ya could turn on someone?"

Jen blinked. "No."

"Then there's nothin' ya need to say."

"It's not that simple."

An annoyed sigh heaved out Celia's chest "Why not?" She asked almost sarcastically.

"Because you didn't let Ransik kill you," Jen stated.

"Ya suggestin' I should have?" Celia growled coldly.

"No! You damn near killed him. Hell, look up 'liability' in the dictionary and there's probably a picture of you beside it! How am I supposed to trust you around my team?"

Celia inhaled slowly, then released the breath, and another whiff of smoke. "I would never hurt any of yer team. I'd be more likely to try and gut Sam in his sleep."

"You can't promise me that," Jen said, "If you had that much control of the demon inside... you would be dead right now and Ransik wouldn't have a mark on him." She folded her arms, meeting Celia's eyes without flinching. "Can you tell me I'm wrong?"

"Yeah, I can. I've been trained by some of the best since I was a pup and I can hold my own without it's help. I've takin' on thin's twice Ransik's size and five times his weight since I was thirteen. I lost control today. Never again."

"Prove it."

"Fuck ya."

Jen snarled, lashed out and gripped Celia's shirt, forcing her to her feet before she could protest, the older woman's reflexes slowed by her injuries. Inches from one another's faces, Wes jumped nervously, wondering if he should step in. Jen spoke again, spitting in the red head's face: "Either you show me that I can trust you in battle... or I make sure you spend the rest of this fight in a twelve-inch tube, got it?"

Celia wrenched Jen's hand away from her, a deep rumble sounding within her chest. Her eyes went black for a moment, lips curling and baring animal like teeth in her face. "Just where do ya come off threatenin' me?" she demanded.

"I was willing to put up with your shit," Jen said, "And I have. I abandoned the only home I have because you said so, I overlooked the fact that you assaulted one of my team, I was even willing to put the possessed-by-a-demon thing behind us. But you can't expect me to forget about what I saw today. And if you were me, you would be saying the same thing."

Celia grunted. It was an admission of truth.

"All right, Butch," she said, "Ya got me there... if I were ya, I wouldn't sit back and close my eyes to what I'd seen. I'd want some answers. Some assurance. And it'd probably be more, if I was in that position I'd probably cuff ya to chair, beat the ever lovin' crap out of ya, pour holy water all over ya, send yer demon spinnin' back Hell and leave ya a bloody, beaten corpse." She leveled Jen with her gaze pounding the truth in. "But I cain't give ya what ya want. All I can give ya is my word that it won't happen again. I won't let it."

Jen looked like she wanted to protest, but Celia held up a hand, and she stayed silent.

"I'm sorry," the Hunter said, "But that's all I'll say. That's all I can say, honestly. 'Cause it's all I've got."

They stood there in complete silence for at least a minute, then Celia sank back down on the step and began puffing again; another minute passed, then another, finally, Jen sat down beside her and released the breath she'd been holding. Wes relaxed, slumping against the railing lower on the stairs.

"Give me a smoke," Jen murmured.

A blink of surprise, then Celia reached into her pack and produced a cigarette; Jen took it, put it in her mouth, then leaned forward to the lighter Celia flicked and held up for her. They sat together, not speaking, as the moon hovered in the sky and somewhere, miles away, a coyote howled in a lonesome voice.

TBC