Title: Marked Time

By: Tidia

Beta: That Girl Six

Notes: So, this is the last part before the very special epilogue. Here is the reveal about what is going on in this strange town. Thank you for the kind reviews.

Part 6

Dean was running, could see the open door and the backs of Sam and Caleb, and thought he would be on the outside in a moment — until he was thrown back. The door slammed shut as he was set into the staircase. He felt the stairs strike his back, but only with enough force to bruise rather than break. He set a blast full of rock salt into the air recklessly to give him a momentary reprieve. He used the time to spring forth towards the door. He heard Caleb and Sam banging against it, calling for him.

"I'm fine!" he yelled.

"Deuce! Dean!" He heard at the same time.

"She won't let me out!" He charged towards one of the nearby windows, figuring it was as good an escape as any. But the widow was equally as clever and pulling the heavy drapes in succession, sealing him off.

The room was plunged into a strange darkness tinged with the color of the drapes as the light fought to penetrate through. The glass on the front door allowed some light through, but it was blocked by the distorted images of Sam and Caleb. "I'm okay. You got anything out there?" He had his duffle slung across his body. He pulled out the salt and made a three foot protective circle. He needed some time to think.

He hoped his brother and friend could draw some attention, but the widow was all about him. "What I get for playin' fuckin' matchmaker." He studied the room. It was the living room they had been through just the other day. Suddenly the flowering wallpaper was threatening instead of just decorative. He had to find a way out.

"Dean!" he heard his brother's husky voice through the glass. "Don't instigate her. Clara and the others are going to help." Sam must have gotten a ladder and put it up against the house, because while he was freakishly tall, he wasn't Mr. Fantastic.

He couldn't imagine how the Brady Bunch was going to help. Contrary to what his brother believed, he wasn't reckless. He wanted to live up to his year and beyond.

"They're married, Lady, get over it. They aren't going to get a divorce 'cause you're menopausal."

If he was going to find a solution, it was going to have to be with whatever was in the room. The way he'd come through was destroyed. The kitchen was behind another door in the corner, but kitchens were notoriously dangerous. Knives were involved. They hadn't bothered to clear out the rest of the house, hoping that they'd be able to contain the old bat in the dining room. He turned slowly in his circle. There had to be something.

In the meantime, the salt circle was moving; it was only going to provide a temporary reprieve. Like with the rock salt shells, he had to think of a better delivery system for protective circles. Maybe incorporating a glue product, he thought, until he zeroed in on the fireplace. "That's it – you encouraged an Oedipus complex, or is it Electra?" He kept up his taunts as he dove to the fireplace and grabbed the poker, slashing it in the air.

Thankfully, old houses had iron fireplace sets, not cheap substitutes made in a foreign country.

She came at him now that he left his circle, swooping at him, causing him to pivot and slash ineffectively in a stalemate. "What does this prove? They are safe outside — the townspeople will protect them. And you can't go outside because I salted the perimeter."

Dean didn't know how much a ghost could sense, hear, or understand. No one ever took the time to ask since they were usually caught up in their own dilemmas. "So know what they're going to do? Hey, Damien! Is that gasoline I smell?"

He was thankful Caleb could read his mind. For one thing, it would at least lower Caleb and Sam's panic level to know he was okay; and for another, he could play along.

"Yeah, sorry, man, stay low and I think you'll make it out, but we've got to burn the place down."

It must have been believable because she stopped and began to take on a form in front of him. She shimmered just feet away, like the picture on the staircase but transparent.

He had the rifle under one arm and the poker in the other pointed at her stern face. She didn't speak so, feeling foolish, he opened up the discussion. "I grew up without a mom, and I would have given anything. . . I hope she would have trusted me to make good choices, to be the son she could be proud of —"

The widow flickered. He took it as a sign he was getting to her.

"I don't think I'm wrong when I say she'd want me to be happy." There was always a piece of him that wished there was something that could turn back time and have his mother and father in his life, to grow up with the normal angst of being a son, not a hunter. He licked his lips, got a harder grip on the rifle just in case things went south fast. "Gwendolyn makes your son happy."

He heard the thud at the door, and so did she since as she flickered again she turned. He turned, too, so he wouldn't have to run through her to get to the door. It was hard to ignore the rhythm at the door. They were trying to knock down the door, and it sounded like there were cracks forming. The curtains fluttered, no longer sealed shut. He had a chance to shoot and run, and he was going to take it, edging closer and closer to the front door.

"Let him go. It's time." Keeping his voice a level, soothing tone he heard Sam use to talk to victims, he told her quietly, "She loves him and he loves her. Maybe they'll have kids – a girl and call her . . ." He didn't know her first name, and he thought his guess of Shrew may be off. "Your name. You'd like that."

Before he positioned his back towards the door, he saw Caleb and Sam leading the way with the blurred townspeople following in line, holding some sort of ramming tool. "Time's up," he called out. She was still in the doorway of the living room. She remained still, and in a blink of his eye, she seemed trapped in a narrow beam of light surrounded by dust particles showing the cylindrical shape.

He held off on firing. "Hold up! Hold up!" he yelled to the people outside. He heard Caleb relay the order.

In awe, Dean stood until there was nothing left. He took out his EMF detector, not rushing, knowing he was safe from the threat.

This was the third time in his life he had witnessed the white light of the other side. Jim would say it was proof of Heaven. He was looking for proof since there was clear evidence of Hell. There was still doubt for him. He liked to think his mother was in Heaven, had spent the better part of twenty years reassuring his brother that she was, but then he found her in their old house in Lawrence. Kansas wasn't Heaven, nor was that house filled with her death.

He turned the knob of the door, still without answers, and walked into the light to his brother and best friend.

((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((())))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

Sam hadn't realized his shoulders were bunched up until he saw his brother exiting the house and before him. Clara was by his side, but floated away to instruct the other townspeople to give them some space.

He wanted to thank them for their help, their belief. When Caleb and he had noticed Dean was stuck in the house, it was Caleb who had announced to them, "Spirits exist, and there is a nasty one in this house. There you have it. Talk amongst yourselves while we figure this out."

Then Clara had offered their assistance. The town banded with them to help another outsider.

Caleb went forward and gripped Dean's forearm while Sam stepped closer, gawking with what he knew was a goofy look on his face. Dean reached out to him, slapping the side of his face playfully.

"Did you save me a piece of cake?"

He smirked at his brother's joke. "Sure you want to be scoffing down some cake? That's quite a gut you're working on." Sam patted his brother's stomach — it was the same as always, but when you were with the same person twenty-four-seven, you tended to pick on their base vanity.

Dean pulled away and pushed his duffle into Sam's arms. "You're just jealous 'cause I can eat everything I want and still look this good."

Caleb shook his head. "Both of you are fugly. And we need to say something to the crowd."

Sam turned and saw the expectant faces of the town.

"What did you say to get them to help?" Dean asked in a low voice.

"The truth." Sam shrugged. Where he had been so careful before never to say anything about what they did, he now was more open because they did help people. This town was proof. "He started it." Sam grinned at Caleb.

"It worked, didn't it? And they didn't seem to care. It's not like they didn't know the house was haunted," Caleb explained, gesturing to the crowd.

Dean used his finger to call over the newlyweds. "Hey, you two, come over here."

They were holding each other tight, trying to move as one. "Is it over?" Mr. Francis stuttered.

Dean nodded. "She's gone, and she says 'congratulations'."

"Really?"

"Yep." Sam watched his brother, looking for any tell that he was lying. There was no change in him.

"She's gone!" Gwendolyn threw herself around her new husband's neck and soundly kissed him.

He pinked up, but turned to the crowd with pride. "Welcome to my home and please, let's enjoy the festivities!"

People in the crowd whooped, threw hats in the air, and some applauded. They followed Mr. Francis's direction and moved to the back of the house where the reception was going to take place.

"Did she really say that?" Caleb asked, mirroring what Sam had been thinking earlier.

Dean did not look directly at them. "Does it matter?"

It did to Sam, more proof of how their mother's death impacted Dean. He would always see the best in their mother, and other mothers. Sam scuffed the wood planked floor of the porch they were still standing on.

"Not for me." Caleb slapped Sam's shoulder. "Let's get something to eat. Your girlfriend said she has a table for us."

"She's not—" Sam started, but to no avail. They were already ahead of him, and Clara was by his side. She must have been waiting for him, looking for a moment to interrupt.

"Are you okay?" she asked. She was wearing a short and rather flimsy pink and blue dress. He pushed a piece of hair that fell in front of her face, tucking it behind her ear.

It was nice to have someone ask about him who wasn't truly connected to him again. "Yeah, thanks." Everyone had disappeared, and he could hear the voices of a party underway. "Do they really still feel like having a wedding reception?"

Clara smirked as she pulled him along by hand. "We don't have much excitement around here."

Sam didn't know how they had set up so quickly, but there was a big band like the ones he had only seen in old movies with fifteen pieces set up under a blue and white striped tent. There was a line at another set of long tables — the food line. He spied Dean and Caleb, plates at the ready with two attractive ladies with them.

Sam learned they were the girls they had met the other night as they sat together at a table eating. Between forkfuls of food and simple conversation, some of the townsfolk stopped by and thanked them. Clara's parents were especially enthusiastic, pounding Sam on the back. Dean held up his hand when Walter was about to attack him so as not to interrupt his meal. Clara also intervened, walking her father and mother away in conversation.

Even though the music was not what he listened to, he found his fingers tapping. Clara pulled Sam onto the area cleared on the lawn as a dance floor. They swayed to the music, Sam not being a talented dancer. He was just happy to enjoy having a girl in his arms who smelled of flowers.

"We want you to stay," she said with her head resting against his chest.

He disregarded the 'we.' "Sure, for a few more days." He had to ask Dean and Caleb. Time was working against them. They were supposed to go Pennsylvania for a meeting with the Romany. The Colt still needed to be found. But a quick glance to Dean and Caleb didn't show they were in any rush to leave either; maybe one more day, tops two, then they could get to Pennsylvania in less than a day's drive. Once they were there, the Romany could help Dean to live a long, natural life. Sam was still letting that thought and the girl in his arms warm him, so he didn't comprehend Clara.

"You don't understand." She lifted her head from his chest. "Stay here for the next twenty years."

Again a piece of her hair had fallen forward, and he grasped it, then stopped. "Huh?" He wasn't ready to rush into a commitment.

Clara placed her hand on his chest. "Because of what you did, what you all did. You can all stay here."

Sam curled his feet in his shoes, feeling the grass and earth underneath needed to ground him. "For twenty years?"

"We need to talk in private." She took his hand and led him away from the party, returning to the front of the house, which was quiet. "For a long time now, no one remembers how, but … we're a special place." She sat on the stairs, tucking her dress around her. "We appear here every twenty years for one month."

He reached out and held the banister, repeating what she said, "Every twenty years for a month?"

"In that month, we discover the newness of the world."

The Best Buy truck, the wireless internet service, even the iPod mirrored against the old toys in the window and places to eat: they weren't eccentricities of a small town. It was a reflection of times for this town. He remembered the movies they had enjoyed. "You were last here in 1988. And then before that—"

"1968. Sock it to me. It is the time I most enjoyed so far."

All the weird idiomatic expressions made sense. They each lived in a different time period, a time period they embraced. Clara's clothes and weird terms were from the '60s. He vaguely remembered a civics class from some junior high. "And then where do you go?" He wasn't a rocket scientist, and even if he was, he didn't think there would be an explanation of a town disappearing and reappearing at twenty year intervals.

"That's the adventure. It all seems like a dream, or maybe it feels like a minute has passed by." She reached up to the blue sky with a giggle, then brought her hand down. "You won't grow old — it'll happen very slowly."

Sam narrowed his eyes to study her. She looked his age, maybe even younger. "How old?"

Clara fluttered her long fake eyelashes. "Eighty years old."

He swallowed, slightly horrified. He had been with her, but that image was being pushed away, replaced by the light of a bulb growing brighter in his brain. "And we can all stay — my brother Dean and Caleb?"

"Yes, for what you did. This isn't our custom." Clara smiled, stood up to sidle herself next to him. "Every twenty years there is a death and a birth, but now we would grow by three."

He grabbed both her hands within his in a futile attempt to stem his excitement. "Do you ever see any demons? Not the ghosts, I mean real scary stuff, anything …?" He scrunched up his face in a poor imitation of an evil being.

She stared at him for a moment, and cocked up an eyebrow. "No, Sam."

"This could work, Clara. I mean, think about it: the date would come up, but they couldn't find him." He knew he was rambling his thoughts. It made sense, though; this was dealing with another dimension. He didn't necessarily get the mechanics of it, but the books in Jim's and Bobby's libraries did touch upon the topic. There were dimensions where demons didn't exist, couldn't cross over. He never thought about searching for or even having access to the possibility. "You would give us twenty years? When we came back, he'd be safe." He looked at Clara. She had given him a weird truth, and he should be the one confused, not her. "When do you need a decision?"

"By tomorrow."

"I need to talk to them. I'll be right back. . . Thank you. God, just, thank you." He grabbed her face within his hands and planted a kiss on her lips. He released her and she stumbled back. He steadied her before briskly walking to Caleb and Dean's table.

He had to ask the girls to leave, and that brought protests from Caleb, Dean, and the girls. He promised to call them back after they finished talking. It took awhile for him to explain to his brother and Caleb. He was met by disbelief until he went through the resounding evidence.

The first comment was from his brother. "What a cougar."

Sam huffed his annoyance. Clara was completely secondary, and her age was irrelevant. "Don't you see? It's a way out of the deal."

Dean glanced at Sam then Caleb. "But Pennsylvania. . ."

Caleb shook his head, his body leaning towards Sam. "Isn't a sure thing, Deuce."

"And this is?" Dean opened his right hand, then made a fist as he lowered his voice. "She doesn't know where they disappear to for twenty years."

"It's better than Hell." Caleb's gaze was on the white tablecloth, drawing circles with his finger.

Dean looked away, shook his head. "I don't know about that. We won't see anyone for twenty years."

"That doesn't matter."

"Mac? Bobby? They don't matter? What if they die? What if we leave them exposed?"

Sam winced. He hadn't thought that far, but Bobby and Mac would want them to save Dean. Caleb rubbed a hand down his face.

Dean must have thought he was swaying them. He pressed on. "We're supposed to be The Triad. What happens then?"

It was surprising for Caleb to answer. Caleb who, of all them, was first committed to The Brotherhood, its rule, and beliefs. "We have substitutes. Ethan and Elijah would step in."

"Who would be The Guardian?" Dean leaned forward, waited for an answer. Sam glanced at Caleb; he didn't have an answer. Dean crossed his arms, smug.

"Joshua. He's . . .capable." Sam sputtered his long shot. He had an extensive vocabulary, and couldn't believe the most convincing word he had was 'capable.'

Dean rolled his eyes. "He works with the coven, Sammy. I know he's on our side, but still, hunters won't follow him. Things are too divided as it is."

Caleb sighed. "Deuce, I'm not going to lie to you: we're running out of time and leads to get you out of this deal." It was in the background of their discussions, but never brought to the forefront. Caleb laid his palm flat on the table. "This buys us twenty years. They won't find you, and you won't die. We can just pick up where we left off when we come back. Everyone would understand."

Dean stood up. It was an unexpected reaction from his brother, leaving Sam squinting in the sun as he tried to catch his brother's gaze. But Dean looked off in the directions of the girls. "I'm not making this decision. It's up to you two. You decide." He placed a hand on his chest, tapping it. "You both think that deal was bad — and I get why everyone thinks that, I do — but saving me isn't about sacrificing you two. There's too much of that going around these days."

"But you'll go along with it?" Sam was, of course, skeptical.

"One track mind," he replied under his breath. Dean rapped his hand on the table, making a double tapping noise. "Yep, because any decision I make, you'll second guess. I can't have that."

Sam watched his brother walk away, then looked at Caleb. The older hunter didn't have to bother to read the connection they shared to know what his charge was thinking.

"I know, Runt, but the decisions aren't going to get easier."