A/N: So this is the last chapter of this story! It's been almost two years since it was published, and I know this final chapter has been a long time coming, so I want to thank you all for being so patient! After getting back from deployment, I just couldn't seem to write anything at all.

I hope you all enjoyed this, I had a lot of fun writing it with one of my good friends, Mary T. If you're interested, we're already planning on writing another story in the future :) Hope to see you again once that is posted, and thanks again for sticking by us through these past 2 years!!!!

~Sierra

---

Chapter Twenty

...

The Clock Tower

11:24 PM

Jen looked around from where she was perched next to Wes, the weakened structure of the Cock Tower vibrated slightly and the low roar of a massive engine and the rumble of an older one rippled up from the street. The sound cut and Jen stayed perfectly still, listening to the drift of voices and the sound of doors slamming shut. Next to her the the black and tan Buckshot perked his ears and got to his feet, listening closely with a cocked head. Slowly, the Pink Ranger rose and her fists tightened, one hand tangled with Wes' squeezed, tensing and trying not to think of who . . . or what had come up on them in the middle of the night.

She breathed a sigh of relief when Trip's excited pitch rose up from the first floor and bounded none- too-lightly up the stairs; the teenage alien burst into the smoke stained kitchen. "Hey, Jen." Trip looked tired but was grinning widely, his face smudged with soot and green hair ruffled as he swept his hat off his head.

"Are you all right?"

"'M tired. After the salt and burn I went with Red to get the new truck. Everyone's downstairs."

Jen narrowed her eyes. "They didn't leave?"

"Why would they leave?" Trip asked, cocking his head slightly. "I thought we were all going to the ranch?" The Green Ranger looked up at her hopefully.

Jen grimaced slightly. In the silence, left alone to her own thoughts, she had begun to second guess her earlier decision to go with the Hunters back to the ranch; the Rangers were the only means of defense that the city had against Ransik and his mutants, and without them . . .

"We'll talk," she said. "Keep an eye on Wes?"

The teen nodded and moved to the side for Jen to slip passed him and start down the stairs, Buckshot on her heels. The ground floor was vacant but a dull glow filtered in from outside. She slipped out the door, wrapping her arms around her torso and walking gingerly around the front of the building to the parking lot.

The Impala was resting nearest to the sidewalk. The trunk was open as well at the passenger side door and the low guitar cords of classic rock hummed from the speakers. The new truck, a Dodge Ram, was parked behind the old classic, it's engine growling in anticipation of the the long trip ahead. Along the 8-ft. bed, set into the frame were a pair of tool containers , their lids open like a pair of strange wings. Across the bed of the truck was a black metal, butterfly styled tool box, it's own lids opened up towards the sky. In the pale light of street lamps Celia, Dean and Sam were working around each other to pack away Celia's salvaged gear into the toolbox and bed compartments.

The doors of the truck cab were open and inside was Eric, curled up, obviously in pain, his eyes half-lidded and his face partially obscured by the thick brown sweater he wore; occasionally he would peek out of the sweater to say something to the Hunters as they continued packing.

The albino Shepherd, Valentine, twisted around when he heard Jen's footsteps and woofed quietly at Buckshot. The older dog brushed passed Jen and trotted up to the other, sniffing noses and swishing tails.

"Hey, Jen," Dean called and lifted a beer to his lips, taking a swig, then set it back onto the roof of the Impala and dug out a large metal box that rattled and tinkled and the Pink Ranger guessed was packed with ammunition. He hefted it up to Celia in the bed of the truck.

"Everyone doing all right up there?" Sam asked.

Jen glanced at the other two, Celia was busy rummaging around and grumbling in the tool box and bed containers but Eric was watching her from the corner of his eyes. "Wes is in a lot of pain," she admitted. "But he's getting over it pretty quick. Everyone else is doing all right."

"Right... Ranger powers. Makes you guys quick to heal." Sam moved away from the trunk to stand next to her.

"It's kind of necessary when half your job is spent in hand to hand combat . . . and the other half being blown up or shot." Jen lifted her chin proudly.

"Sounds like a resume for a Hunter," Dean grumbled and Celia snorted.

Sam glared at them warningly and wrinkled his nose before turning back to look at Jen.

"You guys packing to go?" she asked at length.

"Inventory." Dean tugged out a set of sniper rifles from the trunk and passed them up to Celia.

"When you lose a rig as big at the Silverado you take the chance to really clean out your gear and get new stuff." Sam shrugged.

"Which works out for the Lollipop Guild." Dean pulled open the back door of the Impala, dug and pulled out a worn, black duffle bag and tossed it toward Jen. The Pink Ranger caught the bag, but was surprised at the unexpected weight and fumbled slightly to keep a hold of it.

"What's in this thing?" she grumbled.

"Ammo, gasoline, salt, couple of guns, couple knives, contacts for local Hunters . . . you know, your very own Homemade Hunting Kit. Demon Summoning Spells sold separately." Dean smirked, chuckling at his own joke, and sipped his beer again.

Jen looked down at the bag, then started to push it into Sam's arms. "No."

"No what?" Sam asked.

"No, we don't want it."

"Don't be stupid, Scotts." Eric rasped harshly from his place in the front seat.

"Yeah. Don't be stupid, Scotts," Dean chimed in.

"Dean," Sam snapped and the elder Winchester's lips quirked up in a grin. "Look, Jen," Sam continued, "the stuff you guys were exposed to no one should have to deal with. But now you know, and there's a whole Hell of a lot things out there that won't hesitate to bring you down. Hell, getting killed is probably the least traumatic thing they could do. Don't you want to have something on hand just in case you need it?"

Jen looked up at the ernest face of the younger Winchester; she cast her eyes to where Dean and Celia were watching from the corners of their eyes and where Eric seemed to have dozed off again.

"Katie did mention something about the Clock Tower having a ghost." Jen bundled the bag back into her chest.

Dean and Celia's attention snapped around.

"She did?" Dean asked.

"If it's true it's nothing violent," Jen assured.

"Now," Den muttered.

Jen rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to Sam. "Thanks."

"Hey! It's my gear I'm giving up!" Dean barked in protest, he looked ready to pout or put up some kind of childish defense when Celia tossed what looked like the suit jacket for a tuxedo over his head. The elder Winchester sputtered and scrambled to yank the jacket away and glared up at Celia, rolling the jacket around his arms and hands.

"Quit bitchin'," Celia said quietly and rubbed a fist across her eyes, yawning, lips curling back and exposing the wolf like teeth. Her back arched with a series of small pops and cracks and she heaved a heavy sigh. "So. What's the verdict?" the redheaded rancher rasped.

"Verdict?" Jen stared at her blankly.

"'Bout the ranch. If we can we want to get movin' in the next hour so it'd be good to know if we got five more to make beds for." Celia sighed.

"I don't think we should move Wes tonight," Jen said, "I'm not a doctor but . . . he needs to rest. At least for a day."

Celia nodded. "All right . . . don't wanna be movin' him around before he's ready." She reached into her back pocket and pulled out the squashed pack of cigarettes, offering Jen one-- which she gratefully accepted --before taking a single one out for herself and lighting. "Ya didn't answer my question though," Celia went on, "Y'all comin' or what?"

Jen took a drag off the cigarette, gave it a moment, then exhaled sharply; she met Celia's eyes, and opened her mouth to speak . . .

---

Ransik's Hideout

The Prison Ship

The next day at 12:50 PM

The room was dimly lit, but it didn't bother Frax, his robotic eyes could see just fine as he worked furiously; occasionally the lights would flicker on, then back off, like strikes of lightning in the midst of a thunderstorm. Frax was a robot, but he still remembered human emotion, and as he went about repairing one of the cyclobots badly damaged in the battle yesterday, he felt his anger bubbling within him.

"Ransik!" he cried, "you think us robots are merely slaves to do your bidding--- but no matter how loyal we are, or how hard we fight for you empire, you still treat us like . . . junk metal!" Frustrated and enraged, he slammed his fist down onto his work table just as the intercom beeped and Ransik's voice boomed over the speaker:

"Frax! Get in here right away!"

Without question, Frax raced to the mutant leader's side, finding him laying on the floor in agony, his skin bubbling and weapons emerging from deep in his muscles, poking and cutting their way through. It was a curse left on Ransik after an encounter with another mutant many years ago, a mutant by the name of Venomark, who had bitten him and infected him with a disease that promised years of agony.

That was, until Ransik had located Frax, who was known as Dr. Louis Ferricks at the time. He had developed a serum to counteract the effects of Venomark's bite. Ransik stole the serum, blew Frax's office up, and left him for dead.

"Ransik!" Frax gasped, "what has happened?"

"My serum!" Ransik snapped.

"Oh yes, right away," Frax said, hurrying off to find the serum. He located the box and opened it, glaring at the vials of blue liquid. "Stupid serum . . . " he shuffled back to Ransik, muttering to himself. "One day I'll get my revenge and then I'll . . . " then he stopped, realization dawning on him as he watched the mutant he loathed laying helpless on the floor. He chuckled, staring at the serum in his hand---

"Give me that!" Nadira snapped, grabbing the serum from Frax and bringing it to her father. "Daddy?"

"I'll take this--- " Gluto said as he took the box of remaining serum.

Nadira helped Ransik sit up, then handed him the serum. "Here, Daddy, drink it!" she urged, her voice tight with worry. Ransik gulpe down the liquid, immediately feeling relief as his skin returned to normal, the venom no longer having any effect on him; Nadira looked over her shoulder at Frax, her eyes narrowed, glaring at the robot as he watched, devoid of any emotion . . . except revenge.

And suddenly, he knew, exactly what mutant would be sent to Silver Hills next.

Venomark.

---

Residence of Eric Myers

1:03 PM

Celia dropped her cigarette onto the ground and crushed it with the heel of her boot as she leaned against the outer wall of Eric's house and looked at the truck parked alongside the road; it wasn't the Silverado, but the massive Dodge truck would do. The body was sleek, dark red void of scratches and dents that had gone along with the Silverado. It sat on a set of tall, deep tread off road tires. An extended cab, short bed and a frame of black steel and chrome. Not a bad looking truck at all . . .

Dean was under the hood of the truck, double-checking the fluids and the belts before their long drive back to the ranch; his father had taught him well, Celia reflected, never go on a journey without making sure what you're riding in will get you there. Dean had already checked out the Impala earlier that morning, and declared her to be as fit as ever.

"Ya know the damn thin' is brand new, Dean," Celia called dryly.

Dean popped his head up, grinning widely as he shrugged his shoulders. "Can't ever be too careful, right?" he said, hopping down from the front bumper; he shut the hood, then walked casually over to Celia's side, wiping his greasy hands on his worn jeans. "You ready to get out of here?" he asked.

Celia rolled her eyes. "Is the sky blue?" she muttered.

"Oh, come on . . . " Dean chuckled, "It wasn't all bad. We made some new friends." He gestured to Eric and Sam, who were walking toward the Dode with bags full of tools and weapons, stocking up for the next fight. Eric was still stiff and sore, but already improved after just a night's rest. "Myers turned out to be okay after all."

"He'd make a hell of a Hunter," Celia admitted.

"Maybe someday." Dean gnawed on his lower lip for a moment, his green eyes fell and he seemed to think for awhile before speaking again: "Sort of hope he doesn't though." He met Celia's eyes briefly, then walked inside, leaving her to ponder the meaning of his words, and find herself agreeing with them. The life of a Hunter wasn't something she could wish on anyone. It wasn't always unhappy, and sometimes it could even be rewarding but . . .

"Red!"

Sam's voice snapped her back to reality before she could continue her train of thought, and the tone of that one word instantly brought her to his side; Eric stood by the truck, holding his cell phone to his ear and listening as a voice unfamiliar to Celia spoke: "Looks like one of Ransik's mutants . . . he's attacking downtown. Civilian casualties."

"Fuck!" Celia spat, "it ain't even been a day yet."

Eric ignored her, then answered: "I'll be right there. You guys just try to keep him busy 'til I show, okay?" He let his arm drop and went to run toward his SUV, but Celia caught his arm first; her face was mixture of emotions ranging from concern to anger, and her red eyes flashed dangerously.

"Are ya outta' yer damn mind?" she snapped.

"I'll be fine," Eric said; when she didn't let him go, he insisted: "Really. Besides, what am I supposed to do? I'm a Ranger. Rangers fight Ransik. That's my job--- " he tried to twist out of her grip but found she was still too strong; his jaw set, his mouth forming into a tight line. " --- now let me do it."

Celia reluctantly let go of his arm and watched him as he ran to his SUV and hopped in the driver's seat, not giving a thought to his own safety and health; in spite of herself, Celia smiled a little as Eric drove away, she had sorely miscalculated that boy before. The hardened young man who seemed not to care about anyone except himself, was in fact . . . for lack of a better word, a hero. The term was thrown around loosely, but every now and then, someone actually earned that title, and as Celia watched the black SUV fade from view and imagined what sort of battle awaited the Quantum Ranger, she knew she had found that someone.

"Red?" Sam tapped her shoulder cautiously.

" . . . yeah?"

"We still have a lot of packing to do," Sam reminded her, "And there's nothing we can do to help them." The younger Winchester brother tugged gently, but firmly, on her arm, leading her toward the house. "It'll take your mind off things if you keep busy."

"Seems like that's all I do anymore," Celia said, softly, as they made their way back inside. "Keep busy to keep from thinkin'."

Not that it ever worked. Celia paused in the doorway to the cramped living room, watching Sam walk up to his big brother and wordlessly pat him on the shoulder before going on into the other room; Dean stood still, looked after Sam with an unreadable expression in his eyes, then looked back at Celia and attempted a smile. It didn't matter how hard she tried, Celia couldn't find a smile in return.

Their bizarre life in Silver Hills was over. No more Power Rangers, or Ransik, or mutants . . . it was back to reality again. Back to counting down the months, days and hours until her life was shattered again . . . and this time, forever. Despite the warmth of the afternoon, Celia felt a shiver run down her spine and couldn't suppress the tremble that shook her small frame; to his credit, Dean pretended not to notice, though his smile faded.

"I'd better help Sam with that trunk," he said, quietly, "He's such a chick . . . probably can't lift it by himself."

Celia snorted, one corner of her mouth turning upward while Dean went off to help his brother; she folded her arms across her chest and turned away, leaning against the door jamb, attempting to gather her thoughts she tangled her fingers in the silver chain and medallion of her Saint Michael necklace. After a moment of struggling, only one thought remained, making itself known loud and clear in her mind:

I'm gonna save ya, Dean.

---

Eric watched grim-faced as the medics loaded another victim onto a stretcher and into the back of an ambulance; the young woman had a grotesque bitemark on her neck, she was moaning and crying out in pain, one hand was reaching out for something-- or someone --to grasp for comfort. There were so many others just like her, as old as the 73-year-old woman Eric himself had held in his arms, and as young as the six-year-old boy the Silver Guardians had found huddled in a nearby bush, still crying and barely alive . . . but just for a moment longer.

The realization hit Eric like a ton of bricks, it was absolute, it left no room for argument.

He couldn't leave.

"Eric!" Jen shouted, morphed in her Pink Ranger form and running toward him, the other Rangers just a few steps behind her. "What the hell happened here?" she asked.

"I don't know," Eric said, "by the time I got here . . . it was gone."

"It hurt all these people?" Trip said, his voice full of shock and pain, empathetic young man that he was.

"They were bitten," Eric explained.

"Bitten?" Wes echoed.

"Looks like the mutant is poisonous." Eric nodded toward the ambulance as its lights flashed and it pulled away. "And it already killed a boy. He was six."

"Goddamnit . . . " Jen sighed.

Katie looked around at the people laying on the ground, the medics surrounding them, and the Silver Guardians standing by, unable to help. "Anything we can do?" she offered, looking back to Eric.

The leader of the Silver Guardians shook his head. "No." He took off his red beret and ran his fingers through his thick, black hair. "Just figure out what did this . . . figure it out so I can kill it."

---

The Clock Tower

5:46 PM

"The name is Venomark. Time Force captured him ten years ago, but not before he infected thousands of people with his poison--- " Jen stopped speaking abruptly when she saw the Hunters climb to the top of the stairs and pause in the doorway, their faces expectant, maybe even a little hopeful. She took a deep breath, and started to speak again:

"Hey guys," Wes cut her off. He rose from his spot at the picnic table, unsteady on his legs, his body still weak but his voice strong. "You heading out?" he assumed.

"One way or another," Dean said with a wink, slowly sticking his thumbs into his pockets and jutting out one hip ever-so-slightly, relaxing in his position. "You guys coming or what?" he asked. His tone light, almost nonchalant but a deep undertone hung on the words.

Jen exchanged looks with her team, flinching when she saw the disappointment plainly written on Trip's face, but with Venomark on the loose, they had no choice. "We can't leave," she said, "Ransik already sent another mutant . . . he didn't even take a full day to recover." She reached up and rubbed her temple, massaging away the nagging headache. "Venomark attacked the city this morning, he'll be back soon, and we have to be here."

"Anythin' we can do to help?" Celia asked.

Jen shook her head. "I don't think so," she replied, "I mean . . . you guys really saved us with those vamps, but you're still out of your league when it comes to Ransik."

"Jen--- " Wes said, softly.

"No, she's right," Sam said, "The only one of us who could take on a mutant would be Red, and that never ends well." He gave a tiny smile as Celia snorted. "I just wish there was something . . . it doesn't feel right leaving you guys when there's still trouble."

"We can handle this," Lucas spoke up, confidently, "You guys just make sure you take care of . . . those other things." He smirked a little. "The things nobody knows exist."

"Yeah, we've got that covered," Dean said.

"Actually," Sam said, "it is a leap year."

"Morton House?" Dean asked, his eyes lighting up. "Seriously?"

Sam shrugged.

"Hell, that's practically the Hunter's Grand Canyon." Dean grinned widely.

"How far?" Celia asked, folding her arms and raising her eyebrows, interested.

"East Texas," Sam replied. "Jefferson, I think. It's at least a day's drive away, and that's with no stops." He pressed his lips together, then blew out a long breath. "If the legend is true, then the next killing is supposed to take place in only a few days, so we should probably get going."

"Good enough for me," Dean said. He reached out, offering his open hand to Jen, she took it and they shook firmly. "Just wanted to say, uh . . . I was wrong about you kids. You really helped us out here, couldn't have done it without you."

The admission obviously took a lot of effort on his part. "Same," Jen said, "I knew you weren't FBI, but I had no idea you . . . " she smiled. "Thanks. For everything."

Lucas shook Sam's hand and Katie stepped up to shake Dean's as Jen turned to Celia, the two former rivals meeting each other for perhaps the last time, as equals. "You're a hell of a Hunter," Jen said, respectfully.

"An' yer a Hell of a soldier," Celia answered back, taking Jen's hand and holding it in her strong grip. "Don't forget what we taught ya, never know what might come creepin' up on ya in the night."

"I'll remember," Jen promised.

"Princess." Celia called over her shoulder, lifting her hand to Wes.

"Yeah. Hope that doesn't stick." The Red Ranger sighed with good humor as he eased himself down into the couch again.

The goodbyes were over, and then there was the awkward silence between them and the actual departure; the Rangers shuffled their feet almost nervously, while the Hunters tried to think of the right words to say as farewell.

Then Trip stifled a strange sound coming from deep in his throat and hurried forward, flinging his arms around a surprised Celia, who stood still and stiffly for a moment before tentativelly reaching up to pat the young Xybrian's back. Dean snorted quietly, and Sam smiled, while the Rangers looked on, completely unfazed by Trip's reaction to the Hunters' departure.

"Aliens," Celia sighed, carding her fingers in the neon green hair. Trip let out a watery laugh into her shoulder.

"Thought you didn't believe in aliens," Jen accused.

"Well . . . he's no Mr. Spock," Celia muttered and Dean woofed a laugh.

"I'm gonna miss you," Trip said sorrowfully, pulling away from Celia and looking her in the eye; his gaze flickered to Dean and Sam for just a moment. "All of you. Really."

It took a moment for Celia to gather her thoughts well enough for her to speak, and when she did, there was a gruff tone to her voice that no one recognized. "Yer a good kid, Trip. Don't ever change." She patted his head fondly, then cleared her throat. "All right, let's get goin' . . . long drive ahead."

"Don't be strangers," Sam added.

"Maybe someday we'll run into each other again," Jen said, hopefully.

"There's only so many miles in the United States. We'll be back 'round eventually." Celia assured.

"Yeah . . . maybe." Dean patted Jen's arm, then swiveled on his heel and turned around, calling over his shoulder as he started down the stairs: "You kids take care now! Remember, use Tide for colors on those pretty costumes, not bleach!"

Celia and Sam chuckled, then turned and followed Dean. After a long trip down the stairs they met Eric, who was standing outside in his Guardian uniform, leaning against his SUV; he was pale and still weak, but his Ranger powers would have him healed in no time. Dean nodded briskly as he passed Eric, avoiding any awkward goodbyes; Sam shook his hand quickly and murmured something about "taking care"; then Celia stepped up, unsure of herself, uncertain what to do.

"Watch yer six, little brother," she finally said, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it. "If ya get yourself hurt I'm gonna come back up here an' turn ya inside out."

Eric snorted. "I don't think so . . . I know your secret now, Red." A smile slowly forming on his face, he mouthed the word "Christo" and Celia involuntarily flinched.

"Asshole," she muttered, baring her teeth.

"If you ever get into something you can't handle by yourselves," Eric said, glancing back at Sam and Dean, standing by the Impala. "You call me."

"Sure thin', kid," Celia said, smirking. "An' that goes for ya, too. Don't be tryin' to handle vampires or tulpas by yerself, ya hear?" A hug was out of the question, that much both of them knew, but a handshake just wouldn't suffice; so Celia touched the side of Eric's face tenderly, finding that with that touch she felt the same rush of warmth and affection for Eric as she felt for Dean and Sam, and perhaps even Elijah. He was one of her own now.

Determined to avoid any "chick-flick" moments, as Dean would call them, Celia patted Eric's cheek not-quite-gently and gave him a soft smile. She slid her hand into her pocket as she backed away, pulling something out and tossing it to him with a flash of gold. Eric's reflexes snapped, he caught the object smoothly though it sent a a shock of pain through his shoulder and bicep. He dropped his eyes to the trinket, fingering the chain and medallion of a necklace before catching the red head's gaze again.

"For when I cain't protect ya. He will."

She turned to the Dodge and climbing into the cab. Eric remained in his spot, watching from behind his sunglasses as the Winchesters and Celia drove away. He marveled at the events leading up to that moment--- meeting Celia at the crime scene, hating her intensely, gradually forming a bond of sorts with the Hunters and learning to respect them. Celia calling him "little brother" for the first time. Silently, he wondered if their paths would cross again.

But there was no time to think about that sort of thing. He had a mutant to catch, and lives to save. Venomark was still on the loose, and even after he was caught, Ransik would still send others, hundreds of mutants were left in that Prison Ship, just waiting for their chance to attack the people of Silver Hills. And the only thing standing in their way, was the Power Rangers.

So without another glance toward the black '67 Impala that was disappearing around the corner, the Quantum Ranger hopped in his own vehicle, pausing a moment to clasp the chain of the gold Saint Michael necklace around his throat, and got back to work . . .

THE END