Meg's accusation seemed to hang in the air. Dean let go of Emma, stepping in front of her. Emma let him push her aside. It felt safer with her dad's broad shoulders blocking her view of Meg.

"She's right," Castiel said brightly. He peered around Dean, looking at Emma with interest. "I wasn't going to bring it up, but she definitely isn't human."

Castiel frowned in bemusement as he inspected her and Emma had to resist the sudden urge to hide her face in her Dad's jacket.

"Shut up," Dean snapped. He scowled at Meg. "Don't try to change the subject. Why'd you sneak off?"

"Seriously? I just killed three of Crowley's men. I could have gone the other way on that," Meg said.

Castiel piped up again. "It's true, incidentally. There's other demons' blood on that blade."

"Thank you, Cas. And you can ask your daughter," Meg added, looking at Dean. "She was there. In fact, there'd be one less demon's blood on that blade if she'd actually managed to smoke him out."

Emma hung her head, embarrassed. She remembered the demon's laughter. Its comment: 'Empty words'. She must have messed up the incantation somehow.

"You dragged my daughter along for some demon double-cross?" Dean growled.

"No, you idiot, she followed me." Meg faced him coolly, then glanced past him to Emma. "Don't beat yourself up too much. Your recitation was word-perfect, cupcake, right down to the last syllable. And it was a garden-variety demon," Meg added with a pointed look at Sam, anticipating his question.

"Then why didn't it work?" Emma asked, keeping her voice neutral with an effort. She felt a sick sense of dread settle in her belly.

"When a human faces down a demon via an exorcism ritual, they aren't going toe to toe," Castiel spoke up. "Even the lowliest spawn of hell is more powerful than a human. Acting on their own merit, a human could never prevail."

"So?" Dean snapped.

"So the Rituale Romanum allows a human to wield the power of heaven," Castiel explained.

"Wait, Cas." Sam's brow was furrowed in confusion. "You're saying the incantation lets a human pull rank on a demon? But if Emma recited it perfectly, why wouldn't it work for her? She's stronger than a demon, even 'acting on her own merit'."

"Well, she's physically stronger," Castiel mused, tilting his head as he looked at Emma.

As if she was one of the insects that fascinated him so much, Emma thought, and scowled back at him.

"It's not about strength, Bullwinkle," Meg broke in. "Or faith, or purity of heart or any of that crap. If that was the case, your average scumbag hunter would never be able to smoke out a demon. It's the power of association. Angels, humans, little green apples… You're all part of God's creation." She turned to Dean, "But your daughter? Whatever she is, God doesn't claim her as own of his own. Bottom line, whatever you shacked up with back in the day, stud, it was a monster."

"And so am I," Emma said quietly.

"Doesn't matter. You're still mine." Her father took a step back, wrapping an arm around her shoulders again. Emma let herself lean into the embrace.

"I know. I'm okay, Dad."

"Good. That's settled." Castiel smiled his bright, addled smile. "Now all we have to worry about is Hester."

Emma slouched on the sofa, staring dully at her dad's old, haunted flask where it lay on the coffee table.

"Uncle Bobby? You around?" she asked. She couldn't see the ghost, but sometimes he moved objects to let her know he was nearby. She looked expectantly at the usual litter of books, papers, take-out boxes, and empty beer bottles cluttering the table, but nothing happened.

"I don't blame you," she muttered. "It's been even weirder than usual here." Angels, demons, prophets of God. It was a relief that they'd all finally cleared off, leaving her father and Sam to work out the components for a spell to take out the head Leviathan.

'Blood of the Fallen'. It sounded ominous, even by Winchester standards. Over-protective as he was, Emma couldn't see her father letting her tag along on an Alpha hunt. And forget him letting her anywhere near any attempts to summon Crowley, the King of hell. He'd probably stash her in an extra-cheesy motel three states away for that. The teenager gusted out a loud, put-upon sigh.

"Hey, Emma. You holding up okay?" Sam walked over from the kitchen, two glass bottles dangling by their necks between his fingers.

Her dad and his brother drank beer like civilians drank water. It was only when Sam offered one to Emma that she realized he'd brought her a bottle of root beer. She accepted it, narrowing her eyes at her uncle.

"I'm fine. There's nothing I need to talk about," she said, recognizing the signs.

Sam dropped into a chair angled near the sagging old couch, undeterred. "You tangled with a demon earlier tonight," he pointed out. "You sure you don't want to talk about it?"

"Yeah, about that." Dean appeared at the top of the cellar stairs as if on cue. He strode over to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer for himself before stepping back into the living room area and pointing an accusing finger at Emma. "Next time you see something shady, you come and get me or Sam. No running off on your own," he admonished sternly. Dean dropped down on the sofa next to Emma and fixed his brother with a level look. "Lesson learned, right, Emma?"

"Right. I won't do it again." The flat stare Emma gave her uncle was a carbon copy of Dean's closed-off expression.

"Good talk, Sammy." Dean tipped his head back, taking an ostentatious gulp of beer. Emma chugged her root beer in uncanny imitation of her father.

"Oh my god, you're like bookends!" Sam ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. "Dysfunctional, emotionally stunted bookends."

"She's my daughter, Sam. End of story." Dean's jaw set in that stubborn expression that made Sam want to punch him.

"I'm not denying that," he snapped. Turning to Emma, his voice softened. "Emma, you're family. That'll never change, no matter what. My point is, Dean, we've approached her training as if she was a regular kid who just happened to be really strong. Tonight was a heads up."

"So she can't exorcise demons. That's not such a big deal. Half the time we can't either. You've learned to cope."

Sam held his temper with an effort. "It's not just exorcisms. You're not concerned about Emma's soul?"

"We're not talking about Emma's soul!" Dean said roughly.

"Right. Just like you and Dad never talked about Mom... Or anything else important," Sam said wearily. He looked at Emma, still sitting silent and still on her side of the couch as he and Dean argued.

"I'm sorry, Emma."

The teenager shook her head. "Harmonia," she said simply. "My soul belongs to Harmonia," Emma elaborated as the two men looked at her blankly.

"Harmonia? So the ancient Greek God of... Boy Bands?" Dean hazarded.

"Goddess." Emma rolled her eyes. "The Goddess of Harmony in Battle."

"Harmony among members of a military unit," Sam clarified, "like esprit de corps. The Amazons were the offspring of Harmonia and Ares, the Greek God of War."

"Nerd," Dean accused. "But hey, the God of War was your great-great-great-great-grandad? That's pretty badass," he told Emma approvingly.

"No," Emma and Sam said in unison.

"Ares was a total jerk," Sam said.

"His own mother and father couldn't stand him," Emma said. "Everyone in his family basically hated him. Except Aphrodite—"

"—the Goddess of Love," Sam chimed in. "It was, uh, kind of a case of opposites attract."

"You're both nerds." Dean finished off his beer. "So Emma's soul falls under the authority of some old Greek goddess. We can work with that, right?"

Sam looked at Emma. She gazed back, stoic, and lifted one shoulder in a minute shrug.

"Yeah," he said doubtfully. "Yeah, I guess so."