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Chapter 6

"It's Anokian." Cas nodded as he stared at the picture on Sam's phone. "It means mother. Well, actually, the English language doesn't have a translatable word for this symbol, but mother is a fairly close sentiment."

"Hit with a piece of metal my ass." Dean mumbled.

"Most likely," Cas continued. "the mark was transferred when her mother's heart stopped beating."

"So it's like a curse?" Sam had already pulled a few books off the shelf to shuffle through. "Is that what makes her skin burn?"

"Yes." Cas answered. He didn't seem like he was going to explain until Dean prompted the Angel. "The mark is supposed to keep those who will do her harm away. Although, when God created this protection, it was fairly hard to kill someone without using your hands. This was before humans began using their free will to develop weapons."

"Sounds like daddy-o needs to update his tactics." Dean quibbed bitterly. Once again, God has failed to protect someone he was supposed to. Shocking.

"Alright, so how do we get rid of it?" Sam asked. He already had another book in his hand, his thumbs flipping through pages furiously. Cas stared emptily at the picture.

"I suppose, if we knew the ingredients of the spell we could figure out how to break it. But this," he shook his head "is a very, very old spell. One of God's first."

"Hold up here." Dean leaned over Bobby's old desk. His back cracked from hours of restless sleep and huddling under Baby's hood. "If this spell protects her from people who want to hurt her, then why are we all getting fried? We're the good guys, remember?"

"I guess the correct phrase is, it protects her from beings who could hurt her. The Virgin can not die before she gives birth to the Savior or the next generation."

"And how does she go about putting a bun in the oven when no one can stand to touch her?" Dean snorted.

"Immaculate conception, obviously." The unexpected voice from behind him made Dean's shoulders tense. But once his eyes found her in the doorway, the muscles in his back relaxed again.

"Yes." Castiel nodded. The Angel's eyes were glued to the girl as though she were made of gold. Maybe to the Angels, she was gold. She was, afterall, one of the most important players in the bible.

"You should stay in the safe room." Sam closed his book and jumped to his feet. She looked like hell. Strands of her muddy brown hair clung to the sweat and dried blood caking her forehead, Clothes that were ripped and worn to the final thread, sallow skin, cracked lips.

Hell.

He recalled the red and angry welts he glimpsed on her back when he examined the mark. He couldn't see all of the damage, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. Next to his brother, she looked small and fragile. She IS small and fragile. He reminded himself.

"You heard the man," she threw a hand in Castiel's direction. "I can't die." Her voice had taken on a strange dissociated quality. Almost as if she were talking about someone other than herself. Or like she was drunk.

"Yeah, but you can still get hurt." Sam tried to gesture her back downstairs, but she stood stock still. "Abadon isn't above torture. You know that."

That sent a shiver over her body. A coil tightened in Dean's chest at the thought of her chained to a wall like livestock.

"What are my options?" she kept her focus on Cas, completely ignoring the brothers.

"Your options are to stay in the damn safe room, or… stay in the damn safe room." Dean couldn't explain where the anger came from. Maybe it wasn't anger. Frustration? Worry? Whatever he was feeling, he knew that getting her back downstairs would ease it.

"So I'm either Abadon's prisoner, or I'm yours. Is that it?" She cocked her head to one side. Her eyes shimmered as though a small fire was lit just beneath the surface. He liked her better when she was quiet.

"You're either in that room, or you die." He stepped closer, between her and Sam. It was easy to tower himself over her, forcing her crane her neck if she wanted to meet his eyes. "Every second you spend outside of that room, away from the wardings, is another chance for the bitch to track you down. Another chance for her to barge in here, guns blazin', ready to kill. Maybe she kills you, maybe she kills me. But maybe she kills my brother. I'm not taking that risk." his chest was inches from hers now. He hoped he was as intimidating as he meant to be. Maybe he'd be able to scare her back downstairs. "So help me God I will throw you in and lock the door until we figure this shit out. Or you can just" he shrugged for effect "do what I say."

The words he wanted to use were "trust me". But the last person he asked to trust him, died. An image of kevin flashed through his mind before he returned his focus on the girl. Her eyebrows knitted together, her feet glued to her spot. He could see the resistance, he could feel it rolling off of her body. She turned her shoulders, ready to walk away from him, away from the basement. He couldn't let her go.

"Suit yourself." he shrugged once again and clamped his fingers around her bicep. His grip was strong, but not enough to leave a mark. With an easy tug, he uprooted her feet from the floor and half dragged her towards the basement door.

"Dean!" Sam cried out warningly. Was he warning him not to be so rough? Or was he warning him about…

"Shit." Dean let go of her instantly, but it was too late. His fingers had touched her skin. He yanked his hand back and inspected.

Nothing.

No burns. No blisters. No pain.

"What the hell?" he blurted out at the same time she sucked in a long breath of surprise. "You can turn it off?" he hadn't meant to yell, but the idea infuriated him. "This whole time you could stop it and you still chose to burn Sam?"

"No," she was shaking her head, eyes latched onto Dean's hand.

"We're sticking our necks out for you. To keep you safe, and you go all 'Katnis Everdeen' on us?" His cheeks were burning with anger.

"No!" she shouted back. Sam tugged at the back of Dean's flannel, pulling him back. He hadn't realized that he had gotten closer again. "If I could turn it off, do you think I would have forced myself into complete isolation for over a year?" for some inexplicable reason, Dean was glad to hear her yell. The strength in her voice gave him a strange sense of hope that he couldn't understand. "I left my home, my school, my friends, all because I was so afraid that I would hurt someone. That they'd think I was some science experiment. That they'd hate me! So if I could turn it off, I damn sure would have!"

Without thinking it through, Dean reached out and grabbed her wrist. The skin there was red from the chains, but it was bare. His fingers wrapped around, pressing his skin against hers. She jerked back, trying to free herself, but his grip held.

Again, nothing.

"Cas, what the hell is going on?" Dean looked over his shoulder at his friend. The Angel's face was scrunched in thought, and flattened back to it's stoic self when the answer finally came to him.

"Michael was the only one that God trusted with Mary." he was nodding as he spoke, like he was putting the pieces together with each word.

"The Archangel." Sam was nodding too. His brother's nerdiness never ceased to amaze him. How the hell did he understand that vague line of thinking?

"Great. So what's that got to do with me?" he released Thea's arm and she backed away from him, pushing her back against the wall behind her. He watched pain sting across her face, reminding him that she was still injured, no matter how tough she sounded.

Castiel raised his eyebrows. "You are the Michael-Sword."