"It's been three days, Dean, three days and we've heard nothing. Not even one bite." Sam was sitting at the small table in their motel room, eyes dark and heavy. Dean leant against the connecting wall for the kitchen and the bedroom, leg quivering, chewing his thumb.
Sam risked a look at his brother. "Maybe we should call in some reinforcements."
"What? You mean Cas?"
Sam gave him a look as if to say 'duh', and took a sip of water.
"Oh hell no. No way. I mean, I'd trust Cas with my life, it's all those other winged ass-holes I don't trust. We don't want them to know we're on to them."
"So we're gonna just sit here?"
"No, Sam, we're not gonna just sit here. But we're gonna have to think of something other than calling the angel brigade." Dean strode over to Maya's bed and perched on the end, trying to ignore the fact that her pyjamas were still neatly folded next to him. "Where do psychos usually take their kidnapping victims? Warehouses, old farmhouses, underground bunkers? Search for anything that might fit the bill within ten miles of here. We hit 'em all until we find her."
Sam rubbed his temple. "That could take forever, Dean, if we just call Cas-"
"No! No angels. You hear me, Sammy? No angels."
The younger brother held his hands up in defeat. "Fine, fine. No angels."
"Maya? Can you hear me? Maya? The sigil. The sigil is the only way out without a fight. Sam and Dean still haven't located you. You need to draw it on your skin… It's no use, Phanuel. She cannot hear me."
"Try again, brother. It is your duty to keep her safe."
Cas sat down heavily on a rough wooden chair. The two angels were occupying a crumbling farmhouse a couple of miles out of town, the walls and windows covered in protective markings and sigils. They couldn't seem to reach her.
"You are my friend, Castiel. My brother. I agreed to help you find and protect this ward of yours, but you cannot give up so easily. You are her only hope. You know Kushiel. He is ruthless, reckless. If he breaks her she will never be the same."
The taller of the angels stood at the window, facing the overgrown field outside. "Then we need to try harder."
Kushiel didn't come for me again for what felt like days, not even coming by to drop me food or water. My sleep became more broken, more noisy. The voices that kept permeating my subconscious were becoming louder, more clear. I could make out my name, I could make out sigil, I could make out the voice. Cas.
"Maya? Can you hear me? Maya?" My brain was so heavy and sleepy I struggled to tune in.
"The sigil. The sigil is the only way out without a fight. Sam and Dean still haven't located you. You need to draw it on your skin…"
My skin? Draw it on my skin? With what? Did I even remember it clearly enough? And what would it do? Sam and Dean had showed me a few sigils and wardings, but I couldn't differentiate between any of them properly.
When it was light I scoured the room for anything that I might be able to use to draw the mark on my skin, but there was nothing in there that could possibly hurt me, Kushiel had made sure of that. I stood up to look at the small slat that let the light in, my legs practically unusable. It was a little too high for me, so I had to feel it with my hands. It was rough, and there was a little loose stone barely attached to the rest of the wall. I pulled at it; it came away with ease, and I squinted in the light to get a better look at it. It was a couple of inches long; it didn't have any sharp edges, but I figured if I could snap it in half, I'd be left with a couple of jagged edges that work.
The door swung open. Kushiel stood in front of me, a plastic tray balanced on the palm of his hand. I pushed the piece of stone into my back pocket.
"Here. We do need you alive… for now."
He dropped the tray in front of me and a little water splashed over the side. My stomach grumbled in anticipation. I ate quickly, knowing that I needed to do this before he came back and dragged me back into the interrogation room. I couldn't bare him touching me again. I slid the tray toward the door and pulled the stone out of my sleeve. I tried with my hands first, but my fingers weren't strong enough to snap it. They should have been, I had grace, but I figured that Kushiel might have something to do with that.
"Damn it." I whispered, biting my lip. I looked at the piece of stone, wondering whether the surface area was big enough for me to snap it against the wall with my foot. I decided it wasn't. I needed something hard. There was nothing else in the room apart from myself and the plastic tray. Then it clicked: the tray. But Kushiel could come back for it at any moment. I didn't hesitate: I pulled it toward me and rested it against the wall. Steadying myself with my hands I brought my boot down on it at hard as I could. With a satisfying snap it clattered to the floor in two uneven pieces. Ignoring the glimmer of hope that fluttered in my stomach I placed the biggest half back on the floor and brought my foot down again. If he came back, that would be it. It was still a little big, but I was against the clock. I tried to concentrate hard on the sigil that Cas had sent me. The circle, with the triangle shape at the top, the strange looking five in the centre, the three, the 'N'. I decided my thigh was the best place to carve it, so I hitched down my jeans.
The plastic was sharp, but nowhere near sharp enough. I had to press down with all my strength, and it took everything I had not to cry out as the rugged edge dragged through my skin. Tells welled in my eyes and ran hot and salty down my cheek, but I kept going. It was my only hope. Blood pooled from the cuts and ran down my leg and I could barely see for the tears in my eyes. by the time I'd finished I felt faint. But nothing happened. No explosion, no cries of pain from Kushiel, nothing. I didn't even try to stifle a cry. I looked at my hand, bloody from where it had brushed my leg, and wanted to scream. I couldn't stay here for any longer, I couldn't. I missed Sam and Dean and Cas, and I was worried about them, about what Kushiel had said. Had my stubbornness got them hurt? I went to stand up, to pull my jeans back up, I winced at the pain and had to rest my hand on top of my thigh to push up, I was so weak. As soon as I pressed down, there was blinding light and I felt myself flung backwards, through what should have been a wall, but it didn't stop. I tried to close my eyes and fight the nausea that was overwhelming. When I opened them, I was lying face down on dark tarmac, with two bright lights thundering toward me.
"Dean? This is the sixth warehouse we've been to tonight… do you… do you think we're gonna find her?" Two flashlight beams flittered out of sync in a dank, dusty meatpacking warehouse.
"Whatever it takes, Sam, we gotta find her. I don't even wanna think about what's happening to her."
"Six buildings. No sign. What if she's not being kept anywhere near town?"
"Then we widen our search." Dean said plainly, his hand hovering over a door handle in front of him. He cracked it open slightly, pointing the muzzle of his gun. through the gap before stepping through himself. His breath caught in his throat.
"Sam." There was a circle of scorched concrete surrounding a small wooden chair, fitted with brown leather bindings.
"Maya? Maya!" He shouted, not even thinking about who might be around to hear them, his need to find Maya outweighing the wish for any tactical advantage an unexpected attack might offer. His eyes stung and he could barely control his breathing as he pushed back through the door, desperate for any sign of where she was.
"I'll go left, you go right." He shouted as his brother who was already ten feet behind him, the dull hum of the emergency lighting buzzing in his ear. He barged open every door on the corridor, finding nothing but old rotting desks and filing cabinets. The door on the end though, he couldn't get through alone. He felt a dull ache in his chest. This must be where they were keeping her. He shouted to his brother who seemed to take hours to reach his side.
"Maya? It's Sam and Dean. Are you in there? Are you…alright?" Alive. Sam meant alive. They were soldiers, the both of them, but when someone they cared about was in trouble, their resolve crumbled to almost nothing.
"We gotta shoot the lock." Dean was pacing outside the door, his knuckles white against the grip of his gun.
"Are you crazy?" Sam looked as his brother, whose steely eyes didn't leave the door. He could see the desperation in them, though, he could hear his ragged breathing and his frantic tone, worlds away from his usual demeanour.
"It'll never make it through that metal, Dean, it'll probably kill us first."
"Then what the hell do we do, Sam? Tell me."
Sam paused. "We pick it."
"Pick it? We don't have time to…"
Sam already had a lock pick out of his pocket and was working on getting them in. It took him seconds. "Desperate times don't always mean desperate measures, Dean."
Dean went in first, his stomach dropping when he saw the room empty. There was nothing at all in there, not a bed, not a window, nothing. Nothing except something glistening red on the dark concrete, and shards of plastic scattered around the floor.
"Maya." He breathed.